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ThROWUM UP HANDS ! ” COMMANDED A DEEP, GUTTURAL VOICE 

Page 354 • 






NORMAN CARVER SERIES 


ALL AMONG THE 
LOGGERS 

OR 

» 

Norman Carver’s Winter in 
a Lumber Camp 

BY 

C. B. BURLEIGH 

AUTHOR OF “THE CAMP ON LETTER K,” “RAYMOND BENSON AT 
KRAMPTON,” “THE KENTON PINES” 


ILLUSTRATED BY H. C. EDWARDS 



> 

» 

* 


BOSTON 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 


Published, August, 1908 


LIBRARY of (XmafiESS 
Two CodIm Receive** 


jun 5 1908 



Copyright, 1908, by Lothrop.Lee & Shepard Co. 


All rights reserved 


All Among The Loggers 



Norwood Press 
Berwick and Smith Co. 
Norwood, Mass. 
U.S. A. 


TO 

Sfott. Mtlltam M. #rroall 

better known as “bile” sewall, whose companionship 

ON A MEMORABLE MIDWINTER VISIT TO SOME TYPICAL 
MAINE LOGGING-CAMPS WILL ALWAYS BE AMONG 
THE PLEASANTEST MEMORIES OE MY LIEE, 

THIS BOOK IS CORDIALLY DEDICATED 



PREFACE 


Every industrial army whose work for civilization calls 
for the qualities of hardihood and endurance, numbers its 
nameless heroes. We are all prone, in the enjoyment of 
the fruits of human toil and effort, to consider only the 
accomplished results, and to give little, if any, thought 
to the men and methods employed in their attainment. 
Some of the callings most hazardous to those engaged in 
them contribute the most directly to the home and its 
comforts. This is especially true of the logging industry. 
Comparatively little is known by the world at large of 
the dangers encountered and the hardships endured by 
the sturdy men who, amid the drifting snows, the cold 
winds, and the icy storms of the northern winter, brave 
the vast solitudes of the Maine wilderness ; who lay low 
the mighty giants of the forest, and convert them into 
“ sawlogs ” ; who drive these logs on the full flood of the 
spring freshets to the sawmills whose relentless rotaries 
speedily transform this *' 1 raw-mat erial” of the forest into 
the long and short lumber of commerce. 

In this work of furnishing material for homebuilding, 
Maine, with her 22,800 square miles of wilderness, has 
long borne a conspicuous part ; and yet one has only to 
consult the libraries to find how scant is the literature of 
the Maine logging-camps, with their hardy crews and 


v 


VI 


PREFACE 


picturesque surroundings. It was for the purpose of 
presenting something of the typical life and atmosphere 
of these camps that the following pages were written. 
In their preparation, terms and expressions peculiar to 
the camps have been employed precisely as they are used 
among Maine woodsmen. 

An effort has been made to render this presentation of 
loggLig-camp life and methods, as they exist to-day in 
the northern-Maine woods more attractive to young 
readers by embodying it in a narrative, which, it is 
hoped, will be found sufficiently exciting to arouse their 
interest and hold their attention. 

Grateful acknowledgments are due Hon. Edgar E 
Ring, State Land Agent of Maine, a gentleman with a 
personal experience of twenty-two years in practical 
logging operations, for his kindness in going over this 
volume in the manuscript ; also to Hon. William W. 
Sewall, better known as “Bill” Sewall, and to my friend 
and classmate Austin Cary, Assistant Professor of 
Forestry at Harvard University, for valuable facts and 
suggestions embodied in its pages. 

If the book is successful in bringing home to the 
minds of its readers some conception of the conditions 
existing among the brave and hardy men who fight the 
battles of the great Maine wilderness, in the primary 
work of converting its vast resources to the uses of 
civilization, the writer will feel that his labors have not 
been wholly in vain. 

C. B. BURLEIGH. 

Augusta, Maine. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 



PAGE 

I. 

An Escapade and What Came of It 

• 

I 

II. 

A Forenoon in the Police Court 

. 

13 

III. 

On the Way to the Woods . 

. 

28 

IV. 

Norman Meets Nate Collins 

. • 

40 

V. 

A Night at Gamewood Siding 

. 

50 

VI. 

“Jumping” a Frenchman, and What Came 



of It 

. 

63 

VII. 

In the Heart of the Forest 

. 

76 

VIII. 

Some Reminiscences of Colonel Gerrish 

89 

IX. 

Norman Makes a New Friend 

. 

103 

X. 

Characteristics of Camp 4 

. 

117 

XI. 

Norman Becomes an Entertainer 

. 

131 

XII. 

The Felling of the Hemlock 

. 

145 

XIII. 

The Reappearance of Clouter Kelty 

l6o 

XIV. 

Norman Meets Harry McMurray 

. 

175 

XV. 

An Evening in the Beaver House 

. 

189 

XVI. 

A Visit to Deer Trail Pond 

. 

205 

XVII. 

Crimination and Recrimination 

. 

220 

XVIII. 

The Sad Fate of Dog ’Poleon 

. ■ 

233 

XIX. 

Norman Under Suspicion 

. 

247 

XX. 

Clouter Kelty Has an Unpleasant 

SUR- 



prise 

. 

26l 

XXI. 

A Murderous Assault on Jim Benner 
vii 

• 

275 


viii 

CHAPTER 

XXII. 

XXIII. 

XXIV. 

XXV. 

XXVI. 

XXVII. 

XXVIII. 

XXIX. 

XXX. 


CONTENTS 


A Jaunt with the Scaeer . . . . 

The Lair of the Outeaw .... 
With Ceouter Keety at Soestein’s Camp 

A Wearisome Journey 

An Unsuccessfue Break for Liberty 
Soe Soc Meets with a Surprise . 

A Friend in Need 

The Passing of Ceouter Keety . 
Conceusion 


PAGE 

289 

303 

317 

330 

344 

355 

365 

375 

390 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


“Throwum up hands!” commanded a deep, 
guttural voice. (Page 354). . . . (Frontispiece.) 


/ 


Norman felt that the Indian would slip from his 

grasp 

In the cook’s camp 

Vede Pelotte and his tote-team 

The crew of Camp 4 

The men sat up to them on rough benches . . 

Over four hundred logs in it already 

The crew at lunch 

“‘Lie’ is a fightin’-word in this ’ere region” 
This hovel covered a large hole in the ground . 
“One of the best crews I ever had” . . . . 

The landing 

Fred Warner stepped from behind the oat house 

and confronted mm 

Mr. Collins grasped the dead bruin by the ears 
Norman turned and started dejectedly back . . 

The big teams 


FACING 

PAGE 


60 
76 / 
102 ' 
128 
154 
162 
168 
190 
202 ^ 
236/ 

274/ 
300 
35 ° / 
390 


* 


CHAPTER I 


AN ESCAPADE AND WHAT CAME OF IT 

“ This condition of affairs — your very evident dis- 
position to look upon life as a perpetual holiday without 
serious aim or purpose — can continue no longer. I 
am conscious — painfully conscious — of my own fault 
in having permitted it as long as I have; but this must 
be the end of it.” 

General Carver spoke sternly; and his son Norman, 
a handsome boy of seventeen, with bright black eyes 
and straight, athletic figure, who was alone with him 
in the Sunday seclusion of the family library, and to 
whom the above remarks were addressed, was plainly 
depressed and disconcerted by his father’s displeasure. 

“ We only did it for fun,” he said, humbly. “ None 
of the fellows supposed for a moment that it would 
kick up such a row.” 

“You did it for fun!” repeated the General, scorn- 
fully ; “ and you call deliberate thievery, fun ! ” 

He paused abruptly, and walked up and down the 
room in very evident perturbation of spirit. 

“ The men of our family have been of practical 
mould — too little given, I fear, to sentiment,” he said 
presently, pausing in front of his son; “but we have 


2 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


guarded most jealously our family reputation for integ- 
rity. It has been the basis of any success we have 
achieved, and a heritage in which we have felt a just 
pride. You were too young when your mother died 
to realize the magnitude of your lo*ss — and I, alas ! 
was little fitted to take her place in your life; still I 
hoped for the best. I know now, in the light of your 
humiliating confession, that it would have been vastly 
better if I had accumulated fewer dollars for you, and 
entered a little more closely into your life.” 

“ I’m mighty sorry I got into such a scrape, father — 
I am, truly; but you see the members of the Jol Bro 
are expected to do something to show their nerve. A 
fellow would be looked upon as a cad and a coward 
if he didn’t prove his mettle. Besides, we only meant 
it for a lark.” 

“ I confess, Norman, that I am not able to appreciate 
your point of view,” said the General, coldly. “ You 
and your associates deliberately break and enter a pri- 
vate house — a state-prison offense — in order to steal 
a coat of mail with which to decorate the statue of the 
honored founder of your school. This you call an 
exhibition of nerve, a proof of mettle, disregarding the 
disgust and censure of decent people, and feeling amply 
repaid by the careless laughter of an unthinking public, 
and the disreputable applause of cheap cronies, who 
were not above commending the vandalism in which 
they were too cowardly to participate.” 

“ I’ve admitted my mistake, and expressed my regret 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


3 


for it. What more can I do?” interposed Norman, 
who had grown very red in the face, and looked exceed- 
ingly uncomfortable under his father’s censure. 

“ I wish I could believe it entirely genuine,” returned 
the General, in a skeptical tone; “ but I am very much 
afraid that your sorrow is more for your ill luck in 
being found out, and featured in the newspapers, than 
the result of any genuine repentance for the crime 
you've committed. You must remember that you are 
still a prisoner in the sight of the law. I confess that 
I never dreamed the day would come, Norman, when 
I should have to go bail for you in a police court.” 

“ You wouldn’t, either, if it hadn’t been for that 
sneaking Sime Paddock,” said Norman, bitterly. 

“ In almost every crowd vicious enough to engage 
in such disreputable affairs, there’s usually one mean 
enough to try to save himself at the expense of his — 
er — pals,” declared the General, in a tone of con- 
viction. “ I agree with you that this fellow Paddock 
is a most contemptible young jackanapes; still the fact 
remains that for some time past — up to the very 
moment, in fact, when he gave you and other prom- 
inent members of your society that you call the Jol 
Bro an unexpected and unsavory notoriety by turning 
State’s evidence — he was one of your boon compan- 
ions, a hail fellow, well met, with you.” 

“ I never dreamed he was such a sneak,” said Nor- 
man, bitterly. 

“Pm glad to hear it,” said the General, with a note 


4 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


of approval in his voice. “ It would have been much 
better for you, however, if you had been wise enough 
to have broken with him earlier in your acquaintance.” 

“ I know it now ; but I supposed he was a white — a 
decent fellow.” 

“ But you’ve seen your mistake ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ What way would you suggest of meeting this situ- 
ation, Norman?” 

“ Why — I — thought you knew Judge Meade, and 
might get him to let me off, inasmuch as it’s a — a 
first offense.” 

“ I’ve seen him, my son, and asked him to do that 
very thing.” 

“ You did? When?” 

“ This forenoon.” 

“ Wha — what did he say ? ” 

Norman endeavored to appear unconcerned, but it 
was impossible for him successfully to conceal his 
anxiety. 

“ The interview was not altogether satisfactory,” 
said the General, regretfully. “ I think he felt for me 
in my humiliation. Certainly he was very courteous. 
He insisted, however, that all the boys concerned in 
the break at the Horton house should be arraigned in 
open court to-morrow morning. After he has heard 
the evidence, he will decide whether to mete out pun- 
ishment himself or bind you over for trial at the next 
term of the Superior Court.” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


5 


“ I don’t see what more he expects to find out,” 
declared Norman, in a tone of disappointment. “ Sime 
Paddock has told him everything.” 

“If that’s the case, the rest of you may tell the truth 
without incurring the stigma of being informers. I 
will go with you to-morrow. I shall hope for the best ; 
but we need not be surprised if the court deals with 
you summarily. Sometimes, since this matter came up, 
I have felt that it was fortunate for you — ” 

The General paused abruptly, alarmed by the pallor 
on his son’s face. “ Are you ill ? ” he asked, hastily, 
with unmistakable anxiety in his voice. 

“No — but why don’t you say it?” 

“ Say what?” 

“ That you are glad mother didn’t live to see this 
day. I know I did wrong, father,” he added, hur- 
riedly, without giving his father a chance to reply, 
“ but I acted hastily — in a spirit of fun, and I didn’t 
think how seriously people would look upon it. Don’t, 
I beg of you, think me wholly bad because I’ve made 
one break.” 

General Carver stepped to his son’s side, and laid a 
kindly hand upon his shoulder. 

“ You must know, Norman, that you are dearer to 
me than anything else on earth,” he said, in a softer 
tone. “ I have been proud of the fact that you have 
been truthful, temperate, and honest. Those are Car- 
ver traits. I expected them in you — still it is none 
the less gratifying to me that you possess them. At 


6 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


the same time many of your associates have been far 
from my liking. They are not boys who appear to 
have any very serious or definite purpose in life, and 
it seems to me that the more you are thrown in their 
company the harder it will become for you to say 4 No/ 
Ah! that is a very small word, my boy, but the ability 
to say it is a declaration of spiritual independence. It 
is an anchor for the soul, an unmistakable badge of 
character.” 

“ But I’ve been able to say it, father,” began Nor- 
man. “I — ” he paused abruptly ; “ except in this last 
matter/’ he added, gloomily. 

“ And that I hope may not become an entering 
wedge,” said the General, earnestly. 

“ It shall not,” declared Norman, with decision. 

“ I’ve felt, Norman, that you have had too much 
leisure at your disposal. It is an old but true saying 
that Satan finds work for idle hands to do. I’ve 
noticed, too, on your part, an almost morbid sensitive- 
ness to the ridicule of your companions. It is a bad 
thing for a boy when he is afraid to do what is manly 
and right for fear the * fellows ’ will laugh at him. 
Brave boys must have the courage of their convictions 
— the courage to do right because it is right, and with- 
out reference to what the ‘ fellows ’ may say.” 

“ I haven’t been altogether a follower among the 
boys, father,” protested Norman. 

“ I know that,” admitted the General. “ You have 
always been more or less of a leader, but one whose 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


7 


influence I fear hasn’t always been exerted for the 
worthiest ideals. You have had too many idle hours, 
and too much unearned money to spend. When I was 
your age I was on a farm. I got up at four o’clock 
in the morning and helped milk and do the chores. 
Then I walked five miles to the village to attend the 
Academy there, and back home again at night. When 
I got a dollar I had to earn it by hard work. That 
made me more or less careful how I parted with it. 
I doubt if you have ever given a thought to matters 
of this kind.” The General was suddenly silent, and 
Norman, seeing that his father was absorbed in thought, 
forebore to interrupt him. Presently, with a sigh, the 
tall veteran aroused himself from his reverie. “ They 
say that it is only three generations from shirt-sleeves 
to shirt-sleeves in America,” he said, “ and I have often 
thought that it was no kindness to try to smooth out 
all the rough places in life for a boy, or to furnish him 
with money to spend of whose value he must have, at 
best, a very inadequate conception.” 

“ You have used me far better than I deserved, 
father,” admitted Norman. 

“ I’m not altogether sure that I have, my boy. Fool- 
ish indulgence may be only another name for positive 
injury. I have felt, of late, that it might have been 
better for both of us if I had given you more of my 
time, entered a little more into your plans, and been 
more of a boy with you.” 

“ It isn’t too late now,” suggested Norman. 


8 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ It is for the present at least,” returned the Gen- 
eral. “ I have other plans for you.” 

Norman was visibly startled by this announcement. 

“ Other plans — what — what do you mean ? ” he 
asked, trying vainly to conceal his anxiety. 

“ I mean that I have made arrangements for you to 
go to work,” explained his father. “ I am, as you 
know, interested to some extent in the stock of the 
Lakeland Lumber Company, in northern Maine. The 
manager, Henry Ordway of Bangor, is an old personal 
friend of mine. We were seatmates years ago at the 
old Bolton Academy. I have written him concerning 
you, and arranged for you to go into one of the com- 
pany^ camps this winter as clerk. It will be a new 
experience for you; but I believe that it will be a val- 
uable one. You will at least be free from present 
associations, and will enjoy the novel sensation of earn- 
ing your own living.” 

“But a lumber-camp, father!” protested Norman. 
“ Are the associations there so much better than those 
of Boston ? ” 

“ I think so — in your case,” rejoined the General, 
briefly. “ I have worked, and worked hard, in a log- 
ging-camp in my younger days. I know the coarse 
features of the life among woodsmen. I know the 
temptations that are there, gross to a degree, but not, 
I think, of a character to appeal to you. You will have 
many influences in this primitive life that will tend to 
strengthen you. You will be close to the great heart 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


9 


of Nature, in an atmosphere of work — the hard, per- 
sistent, incessant toil of the strong, sturdy men who 
convert the vast resources of the forests to the uses of 
civilization. It will not be play for you; but, never- 
theless, I feel that the experiences of such a winter will 
be most valuable to you.” 

“ But, father! ” expostulated Norman, aghast at the 
prospect, “ I would have to leave school — besides — 
I — I haven’t any outfit.” 

The faint suggestion of a smile played for a moment 
about the corners of General Carver’s mouth. 

“ I think the school you will be in will be — for a 
while at least — a better one than that you have been 
attending. The school of practical experience has grad- 
uated some of our best scholars, and most successful 
men. As for your outfit, I have written Mr. Ordway 
to provide one for you. He will have it all ready 
when you reach Bangor.” 

“ When will that be?” 

“ I’m not sure. It will depend upon the action of 
the court to-morrow morning. If the judge is lenient, 
I hope to get you away the next day — Tuesday morn- 
ing. That will bring you into Bangor the same even- 
ing. You will stay over night with Mr. Ordway, and 
go into the woods over the Bangor & Aroostook Rail- 
road the next morning. Nate Collins, a leading farmer 
and one of the best-known guides in that section, is 
scaling for the company ; and Mr. Ordway will arrange 
for him to show you into the camps. He is an old 


10 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


friend of mine, a clear-headed, intelligent, upright man 
who has spent much time hunting and lumbering in 
the northern woods. Association with such a man will 
be, in itself, an education for you.” 

It was evident that Norman was becoming interested 
in his father’s plan, distasteful as it had appeared to 
him when it was first broached. 

“ Of course I shall be glad to go with him,” he said ; 
“ but my work — how shall I know what to do ? It 
isn’t likely I could make myself very useful when I 
never even saw a lumber-camp,” he added, with an 
appalling sense of his own inefficiency. 

“ You will have good instruction,” returned his 
father, cheerfully, “ and will not be asked to do any- 
thing that any bright boy of your age, and with your 
education, could not easily do, if he paid reasonable 
attention to business. While it occurs to me, I want 
to say that a clerk must make himself very generally 
useful. He mustn’t stand upon the dignity of his 
position, but must be ready at any time to do an errand 
or lend a helping hand wherever he can be of service.” 

“ I should want to do that anyway,” said Norman. 

Later in the evening he sat in the family pew with 
his father at the Sunday evening exercises in the 
church which they attended, but his mind was not upon 
the sermon. Instead it wandered away to the far-off 
Aroostook in a vain attempt to conjure up a mental 
picture of the vast northern forests which a great army 
of men was even then converting into sawlogs. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


ii 


Norman had never been accustomed to question his 
father’s decisions; and while the General’s announce- 
ment of his purpose to send him into a logging-camp 
had come to him as a decided surprise, and with some- 
thing of a shock, still the more he reflected upon it, 
the more favorably impressed he was with the idea. 
The unexpected and unsavory denouement that had 
followed the raid of the Jol Bro committee upon the 
archaic collection, that had long been the pride of the 
wealthy and eccentric owner of the Horton house, had 
been the source of no little humiliation to the proud 
spirit of Norman Carver. The newspaper notoriety 
which the affair had attained, and the caustic criticisms 
it called forth, had made him sick at heart. At first 
the escapade had seemed to him peculiarly rich in the 
qualities of a rare and racy humor. Now his face 
flushed with shame at the mere thought of it, and he 
could only wonder that he had ever been weak enough 
to engage in such an egregious piece of folly. He 
dreaded the ordeal of the police court, and was, on 
the whole, glad of the opportunity to drop quietly out 
of sight, until the whole deplorable affair should pass 
out of the public mind. 

Late that night, as he lay in his bed turning over 
in his mind the surprising developments of the after- 
noon, and wondering what life in the big Maine forests 
might have in store for him, the door opened softly 
and his father stepped into the room. 

“ Are you awake, my son? ” he asked, and Norman 


i2 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


thought he detected a new note of tenderness and yearn- 
ing in his voice. He felt in that moment a new appre- 
ciation of the strength and tenderness of his father’s 
love for him. In a flash he saw how great was the 
personal sacrifice this gray-haired veteran was making 
in sending him, even temporarily, out of his lonely life. 
Something swelled up in his throat and choked him, 
as he answered, huskily: 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“Well, don’t worry, my boy; and you needn’t feel 
obliged to get up in the morning until you are ready. 
I will meet you at the police court at ten o’clock. 
Good night.” 

“ Good night,” responded Norman, and shortly after 
he fell fast asleep, in the midst of newly formed reso- 
lutions to win his father’s approbation, as well as merit 
his love. 


CHAPTER II 


A FORENOON IN THE POLICE COURT 

“ That’s right, crawl ! slink away, you sneak ! ” 

There was something so scathing in Norman Car- 
ver’s tones that Simon Paddock, who was endeavoring 
to avoid him by hurrying down a cross street, stopped 
abruptly and faced him with flaming cheeks. He was 
a tall, stooped-shouldered fellow, with sharp, hatchet- 
like face, and small, furtive eyes, that darted quick, 
uneasy glances, but were, apparently, incapable of fairly 
meeting a direct gaze. 

“ Who are you calling a sneak ? ” he demanded, 
angrily. 

“ You,” returned Norman Carver, emphatically. 
“ You were the only one in our crowd who was mean 
enough to give the fellows away, and you know you 
were in it just as deeply as any of us. It was a 
cowardly, contemptible act — and don’t you think the 
fellows haven’t got it in for you. I see your finish.” 

“ You mustn’t be too hard on a fellow,” whined 
Simon, apprehensive of the punishment which his 
former associates might visit upon him for his treach- 
ery. “ I didn’t want to do it — truly I didn’t ; but 
you know we went too far. We did, really, and - 
13 




i4 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


well, you know what an awful smell the thing kicked 
up, and of course — really — you see, I — I didn’t 
want to go to State prison, you know.” 

“ But you were quite willing to send the rest of us 
there,” rejoined Norman, bitterly. “ You are certainly 
a most generous and loyal friend — but don’t you 
worry, you’ll get your reward. The fellows have got 
it in pickle for you.” 

Simon’s naturally sallow countenance grew a shade 
paler at this menacing announcement. 

“ I didn’t want to say a word about it — hope to die 
if I did,” he protested, nervously ; “ but I simply had 
to. The old man made me.” 

“ The old man ? Who, Doctor Horton ? ” asked 
Norman, in an incredulous tone. 

“No; dad. He got a line on the whole matter and 
I had to own up. Then he made me tell the whole 
story to the District Attorney.” 

“ Go tell that to the marines,” said Norman, coldly. 
“ You can’t work us with any hot air. We know all 
about it. You crawfished. You crawled. You did 
anything and everything to save yourself. The only 
thing the fellows wonder at now is that they ever 
admitted such a lightweight as you to the Jol Bro.” 

“ You needn’t preach, Carver,” rejoined Simon, sul- 
lenly. “ I don’t care a rap for the Jol Bro. It’s in 
mighty bad odor just now. No decent fellow would 
want his name connected with it. It’s true I didn’t 
want to tell what I did — I didn’t, really ; but you 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


15 


know mighty well that any one of the rest of you 
would have done just as I did if you’d had my chance 
to break clear of the scrape.” 

Norman bent forward with blazing eyes, and shook 
his fist in Simon’s face with a vigor that made that 
worthy draw back in genuine alarm. 

“You coward! You cringing cur!” Norman’s 
voice was hoarse with anger, and his hand shook with 
the intensity of his passion. “ You judge other people 
by yourself ; but there, every one knows that there isn’t 
another such a sneak as you within a ten-mile radius. 
Even the people that condemned us on the strength of 
your confession despised you for it. There isn’t a 
decent fellow in the city to-day that would have any- 
thing to do with you.” 

“ Indeed ! ” sneered Simon, finally stung to resent- 
ment by Norman’s scornful denunciation. “ I trust 
you don’t include yourself in that class. Decent fel- 
lows don’t have engagements at the police court.” 

“ I admire your crust ! You, who have added treach- 
ery to the original offense, reproaching us for the police 
court opened to us by your own cowardly betrayal! 
You have neither manhood nor decency. Those of us 
who will suffer by your skulking exposure have made 
a bad mistake, and done a mighty foolish thing; but 
we haven’t been chicken-hearted enough to go into a 
white funk.” 

“ It’s refreshing to know that you have at least seen 
the error of your ways,” sneered Simon, who was evi- 


16 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


dently smarting under Norman’s vigorously expressed 
contempt. “ I thought you labored under the delusion 
that 4 the King could do no wrong.’ ” 

We knew very well our shortcomings ; but you 
were the only one of the crowd to turn jackal,” 
returned Norman, warmly. “ Moreover,” he added, 
“ you were the only one in the crowd whom I ever 
heard refer to his father as the ‘ old man,’ and any 
fellow who is guilty of such disrespect is rotten to the 
core.” 

With this parting shot Norman was turning away 
in disgust, when a stinging blow caught him side of 
the face, and sent him reeling against a lamp-post. 

“ So I’m rotten, am I ? ” demanded Simon, wrath- 
fully, in a thin, nasal tone that rose almost to a shriek. 
It was evident that he had been spurred to unexpected 
aggressiveness by a sudden gust of passion. “ You — 
you conceited windbag! Who made you Czar? How 
long have you been running things in this city? I just 
want you to know I don’t wear your collar. I — ” 

Whatever Simon was* about to add was lost in a 
yell of pain and terror. Norman had recovered from 
the daze of his unexpected assault; and, springing 
quickly forward, gave Simon a swinging blow behind 
the ear, that sent him sprawling into the gutter, from 
which he scrambled, a moment later, looking decidedly 
the worse for his experience. Norman expected him 
to renew the attack; but, to his surprise, Simon made 
off down a near-by alley as fast as he could go. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 17 


“ Look out for de cop ! ” yelled a little bootblack 
from the opposite side of the street; but the warning 
came too late. A heavy hand was laid on Norman's 
shoulder; and, turning in dismay, he found himself in 
the grasp of a burly policeman. 

“ An’ sure the public strates are not the place to do 
yer scrappin’ stunts in, me little bantam,” said the big 
officer, good-naturedly. “ Ye’d betther hire a hall.” 

“ I know that,” returned Norman, hotly, “ but — but 
he hit me first.” 

“ Thot’s what he did — the spalpeen ! ” admitted the 
officer. “ Oi saw the whole bout. Oi was in hopes 
Pat Callahan moight have got his dooflappers on him; 
but, bedad, he was too shifty for me.” 

By this time a crowd of grinning street gamins and 
curious pedestrians were following in their wake, and 
Norman felt keenly the disgrace of his position. He 
knew that his father had hoped to secure some clem- 
ency from the court in settling the case of the Jol Bro 
committee, and the thought of the disastrous effect 
which this fresh trouble might have, not merely upon 
his own fortunes but, possibly, upon those of his asso- 
ciates, filled him with anxiety and dread. 

“ Arrah ! Cheer up wid ye. Sure an’ we all have 
our throubles,” said the big officer, with a bluff attempt 
at consolation, noting the long face which his prisoner 
wore. “ Move on wid ye ! an’ don’t be loafin’ around 
here, or Oi’ll be afther runnin’ some o’ ye in,” he 
added, angrily, shaking his club at the spectators. 


i8 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


The crowd shrank away; and, opening a street door 
at his left, the big policeman entered with Norman, and 
closed it behind him. 

“ Now let thim gawp, bad cess to thim ! ” he growled. 

It was a small room, something like an office, that 
afforded them a refuge; and it was evident that the 
officer was more or less familiar with it. Passing to 
the rear of it, he entered a back room, which Norman 
saw with surprise was evidently the storeroom and 
finishing-shop of a small undertaking-establishment. 
Pausing at the rear end of this room, the big officer 
took a seat near the window. 

“ Me brither runs this little place, and Oi sometimes 
run in here a minute whin Oi want to hear mesilf 
think, : ” he said, whimsically. “ Sit down wid ye,” he 
added, pointing to a chair near him. 

Norman took the indicated seat, wondering what 
the next move would be. He was encouraged to believe 
that his burly captor was not lacking in sympathy for 
him. 

“ Sure, an’ Oi must con your case over a bit — Oi 
must thot,” declared the big policeman, solemnly. “ It’s 
ivident,” he continued, judicially, “ that the bloody spal- 
peen hot ye the firrst swat — he did thot. Arrah! it 
was a dirthy thrick, an’ it’s not Pat Callahan as would 
be blamin’ ye fur cuffin’ him back. Begorra, ony dacint 
bhoy wud ’a’ been afther doin’ the same. Sure,” he 
added, in a tone of conviction, “ it was ividintly widout 
quistion a matther av silf-definse. Oi shall have, in 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


19 


the inthrists of law and ordther, to think the matther 
over wid great care. Manewhoile, there’s a back door 
forninst ye there thdt lades into a back alley. If ye 
should tack a notion to fade away in thot diriction, it’s 
not loikely Oi’d be afther sayin’ ye.” 

Norman needed no second hint, and a moment later 
was speeding down the alley in the direction of the 
police court, where he found his father, together with 
a sorry-looking group of members of the Jol Bro anx- 
iously awaiting him. Back in the last row of seats 
reserved for the witnesses sat Simon Paddock, looking 
decidedly the worse for his recent encounter with Nor- 
man, and shrinking visibly under the contemptuous 
glances of his former associates. 

For several reasons the members of the Jol Bro had 
been spared the humiliation of the prisoners’ dock, and 
were seated near the swinging doors at the entrance 
to the court room, upon one of the seats usually reserved 
for the spectators. 

In one corner of the room, to the left of the judges’ 
bench, facing the boys, was an enclosed place, known 
as the “ pen,” in which prisoners were detained while 
awaiting trial. This was carried nearly to the height 
of a man, in the matched sheathing, and was still fur- 
ther extended by a heavy wire lattice which ran along 
the top. The front of the pen was cut away, where it 
faced the raised platform, upon which the judges sat, 
to form a “ bar,” before which the prisoners stood as 
they were called up in turn for trial. Prisoners were 


20 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


brought into the pen through a door in the rear. There 
was also a door in the front of the enclosure which 
'opened into the court room, and which was used by 
the court officers and attorneys. Through this door 
also passed the prisoners whom the court discharged, 
or permitted to go on probation. 

To Norman, the pen was a special center of interest. 
From his seat he was able to see the motley collection 
of prisoners as they were brought into it by way of 
the rear door. They were a decidedly unkempt and dis- 
reputable-looking lot. He mentally thanked his lucky 
stars that he and his companions had escaped the humil- 
iation of mingling with them. 

As he watched, an officer brought two prisoners into 
the pen for the purpose of having them bound over for 
trial at the next term of the Superior Court. From the 
newspaper portraits of them which had been published 
in the leading journals, Norman recognized them as 
“ Baggy ” Snell and “ Clouter ” Kelty, two well-known 
burglars of brutal type, who had been captured red- 
handed in the robbery of a suburban bank. Both had 
“ done time,” and both, strange to say, were known 
as “ model prisoners,” a fact which had apparently 
made the officers somewhat careless in dealing with 
them; for Norman noted, with surprise, that neither 
of them was ironed. “ Baggy ” was an inoffensive- 
looking fellow, somewhat undersized, whose bow-legs 
suggested the origin of the name by which he was 
known, and whose mild and deprecatory manner made 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


21 


it difficult to believe that he was indeed the skilful and 
daring cracksman he was known to be. “ Clouter ” 
Kelty, on the other hand, was a typical tough. He 
was a thick-set, bullet-headed, dark-eyed man, with a 
bulldog squareness of jaw, and an insolent face — a 
countenance at once indicative of great daring, craft, 
and cruelty. His dark hair, long and coarse, fell in 
a heavy tangle about his forehead. It failed, how- 
ever, fully to conceal a livid, red scar, which extended 
obliquely into the scalp from just above the right eye. 
A bristly growth of beard covered his face. He was 
a repulsive-looking fellow, and one well calculated to 
inspire distrust in all who met him. 

Not only was Kelty known to be guilty of the crime 
in the act of which he had been captured, but he was 
also thought to have committed a brutal assault upon 
an old man, who even then was lying in one of the 
city hospitals in a precarious condition. 

Quite a number of prisoners were already in the 
pen when Kelty and Snell were brought into it, and, 
as a result, they were given a seat near the first row 
and almost in front of the door opening into the court 
room. Having thus disposed of them, the officer who 
had escorted them thither took his departure from the 
pen through the doorway opening into it at the rear. 

In front of the door which opened from the pen 
into the court room, was an officer whose special duty 
appeared to be the maintenance of order and decorum 
on the part of prisoners and spectators. The presiding 


22 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


judge was busily engaged in looking over the various 
papers submitted to him by a number of citizens and 
police officers, lined up in single file before the bench, 
and each awaiting his turn to secure an audience with 
the court. 

Presently the officer, who was stationed at the door 
of the pen, stepped over in front of the bench and 
engaged in a conference with the clerk of the court. A 
number of young attorneys came and went from the pen 
for the evident purpose of holding consultations with 
their clients. As one of these came out from the enclos- 
ure he was closely followed by a thick-set, powerfully 
built man, who gave a cool, nonchalant glance about 
the court room, and started leisurely down the aisle 
toward the swinging doors that opened into the outer 
corridor. With a gasp of amazement Norman recog- 
nized the bullet-head and small, roving eyes of Clouter 
Kelty ! Never before had it been his fortune to witness 
such an astounding exhibition of cool nerve and daring. 
The escaped prisoner had nearly reached the outer doors 
when the officer, who guarded the pen, turned from 
his conference with the clerk and caught sight of him. 

“ Hi there ! Hold on ! Stop him ! ” he cried, in 
tones of consternation. 

Norman, who sat next to the aisle, made a quick 
jump and grasped the escaping desperado by the lapel 
of his coat; but, with a swinging blow, Kelty brushed 
him to the floor, and sprang through the exit. A 
group of officers, who hastened after him, were blocked 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


23 


temporarily by a large, stout man who was about to 
enter the court room. When they finally reached the 
corridor Kelty was nowhere in sight. Several aston- 
ished bystanders who had seen him pass stated that 
he had fled down the long corridor like a whirlwind; 
and that, turning to the right at its farther end, he had 
raced up a short flight of stairs, and into a back street 
through a rear exit from the court-house. When the 
officers succeeded in gleaning these facts, Kelty was 
nowhere in sight, and a most rigid search of that sec- 
tion of the city failed to reveal his hiding-place to the 
chagrined and astonished guardians of the peace. 

The daring escape of this noted criminal was, in a 
way, an advantage to the Jol Bro members; for it 
furnished the newspaper reporters with a sensation in 
the presence of which all minor matters were lost sight 
of. When the Jol Bros were finally called before the 
court there was not a representative of the press in 
the room — all of them having joined in the search for 
the missing Kelty. 

In a few words the District Attorney stated the case 
against the boys, which statements he asserted, with a 
glance at Simon Paddock, he was prepared to substan- 
tiate in testimony. He added that Doctor Horton was 
not disposed to push the matter, believing that the 
young men had acted in a spirit of pure mischief, with- 
out vicious intent, and without appreciating the mag- 
nitude of their offense. He was prepared to leave the 
matter of binding them over to await the action of the 


24 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


Superior Court entirely to the discretion of the pre- 
siding Judge. If His Honor felt that the notoriety 
they had suffered was sufficient punishment for this 
first offense, and should be disposed to let them go 
upon probation, he would offer no objection. 

General Carver, who by common consent acted as 
counsel for the Jol Bros, then addressed the court. He 
said that his clients would plead guilty to the charges 
preferred by the District Attorney, and would throw 
themselves upon the mercy of the court. 

The presiding Judge then stated that, after due 
reflection, he had decided to let the young men go 
upon probation, inasmuch as it was their first offense. 
At the same time he improved the opportunity to read 
them a very sharp lecture on the character of their 
misdemeanor. 

As they were about to leave the court room, follow- 
ing the Judge’s remarks, a well-known attorney, who 
sat with Simon Paddock and his father, rose and 
addressed the court, asking that Norman Carver be 
placed under arrest for aggravated assault upon his 
client. His Honor, after a brief conference with his 
colleague, granted the request, and upon the earnest 
solicitation of General Carver, following a hurried, 
whispered consultation with his son, decided to give 
the matter an immediate hearing. 

Simon Paddock then took the stand, and, with an 
air of perfect candor, told a very smooth-sounding 
story. He said that Norman had met him on his way 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 25 


to court and had reproached him for “ going back ” 
on the boys and exposing their complicity in the Horton 
house outrage. Young Carver, he asserted, had then 
demanded that he leave the city at once, and thus 
deprive the court of his testimony. Upon his indig- 
nant refusal to do this he declared that Norman 
knocked him down and brutally kicked him. 

Norman Carver was then put upon the stand and 
told the story of the encounter precisely as it had 
occurred — flatly contradicting the greater part of 
Simon’s testimony. 

It was evident that Judge Meade was very much 
perplexed at the situation. Both boys had told appar- 
ently truthful and straightforward stories. While there 
was a motive for Norman to commit the assault with 
which he had been charged, at the same time, the 
treacherous part which Simon had played towards his 
former associates had not prepossessed the hard-headed 
old lawyer in his favor. 

“ Is there any further testimony?” he asked. 

At that moment Norman caught sight of the round, 
good-natured face of the officer who had arrested him, 
and who had just entered the court room. 

“ I’ll ask Your Honor to call the police officer in the 
rear of the room,” he said. 

“ Officer Callahan will please step forward and be 
sworn,” said the Judge. “ Now what can you tell me 
about the trouble between these boys ? ” he asked, when 
the big fellow had taken his place on the witness-stand. 


26 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Oi saw thim, Your Honor, a-holdin’ a confab this 
forenoon about midway of me bate. Oi judged they 
were not on frindly terms. Finally this wan ” — point- 
ing at Norman — “ stharted to go. Upon thot the 
other wan ” — pointing at Simon — “ fetched him a 
most dirthy blow from behoind.” 

“ Let me understand you clearly, officer,” interposed 
the Judge. “ You positively state that this boy ” — 
nodding at Simon — “ struck the first blow ? ” 

“ Thot’s what he did, Your Honor, and a cowardly 
wan it was, too. Av course Oi took a hand thin, but 
not before me little mon here ” — waving his hand at 
Norman — “ got back on the other lad. Arrah ! but 
’twas a swate clip he gave him, complately upinding 
’im into the gutter. About the toime he got onto his 
fate he saw me an’ lit out loike a gale o’ wind. This 
bye’s back was turned,” he added, nodding at Nofman, 
“ so Oi pinched him; but you know, Your Honor, he 
is not a large bye, an’ Oi got thot busy wid me reflic- 
tions thot he skipped me intoirely.” 

An audible titter ran about the court room, and a 
momentary twinkle gleamed in the Judge’s dark eyes. 

“ The prisoner is discharged,” he said, as the officer 
left the stand. “ As for you,” he added, sternly, turn- 
ing to Simon, “it is very evident that you are a liar, 
in addition to your other shortcomings. I have a good 
mind to bind you over on a charge of perjury; but in 
consideration of your parents I shall let you go. If 
you come before me again, however, you will not get 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 27 


off so easily,” and the cringing Simon, who had been 
white with fear during Officer Callahan’s testimony, 
lost no time in slinking out of the room. 

Norman sat up with the General till nearly midnight 
that evening, completing the preparations for his trip 
to Aroostook; and, in those parting hours, the boy felt 
the barriers of reserve melt away, and was conscious 
of coming closer to the heart of his father than ever 
before in his life, 


CHAPTER III 


ON THE WAY TO THE WOODS 

“ That’s the famous Indian Island.” 

The Bangor & Aroostook train was just pulling out 
of Old Town, and Norman Carver looked with interest 
at the small island in the Penobscot river which had 
just been pointed out to him by the friendly commercial 
traveler who shared his seat. 

“ Do Indians live there ? ” he asked, incredulously. 

“ Sure,” replied his companion, good-naturedly. 
“ All, or practically all, that are left of the once pow- 
erful Penobscot tribe.” 

“ But I thought that — ” 

“ That they lived in wigwams? ” interposed his com- 
panion, with a smile. “ So they did once, but that 
was a good many years ago. Indians here in Maine 
to-day live and dress and look pretty much like other 
folks.” 

Norman regarded with a new curiosity the little 
village of framed houses, many of them painted white, 
which covered the island nearly to the water’s edge. 

“ I shouldn’t think there could be many left,” he 
said. 

“ Well, there are not very many — about 386 all 
28 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 29 


told, I think. You will notice, however, that they still 
maintain the village life that has always been charac- 
teristic of the race. For all they are so taciturn, and 
seem to fit so naturally into the silence and solitude of 
the great forests they love so well, the Indians, in their 
home life, are both hospitable and social. They have 
there on the island a neat little chapel, and the advan- 
tages of an excellent school taught by the Sisters of 
Charity. ,, 

“ Can they get fish and game enough to live on ? ” 
asked Norman. 

“ They don’t try to,” returned his companion. 
“ They have various other ways of earning a living. 
The men take naturally to a woods life. Some of 
them work in the logging-crews, and many of them 
are skilful river-drivers. In fact, lumbering operations 
constitute about the only form of white men’s industry 
that seems to appeal to Indians. They are naturally 
skilled in all the arts of woodcraft, are adepts in the 
management of canoes, and are in considerable demand, 
during the open season, as guides. All of them are 
expert basket-makers; and, with the growth of the 
summer resorts, they have found a very ready and a 
very profitable market for their wares among the city 
visitors.” 

He paused, and, taking his cigar from his mouth, 
regarded Norman with evident interest and curiosity. 
“ Not familiar with Maine, I take it?” he said, in a 
tone of inquiry. 


30 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“No. It is my father’s native State; but I have 
never been in it before. My home is in Boston.” 

“ Still you are bound for the Maine woods, I reckon,” 
he continued, with a glance at the snow-shoes by Nor- 
man’s side. 

“ Yes, I’m going to spend the winter in one of 
the Lakeland Lumber Company’s camps — as clerk, I 
believe. Father thought it would be a good experi- 
ence for me.” 

Norman’s face flushed a little at this statement; and, 
with a keen glance at the boy by his side, in which 
shone a gleam of comprehension, his companion fore- 
bore to pursue the subject further. 

“ Alton, Alton,” called the brakeman, as the train 
came to a standstill at a small country station. A 
moment later the door of the smoking-car opened to 
admit a tall, powerfully built man, whose swarthy com- 
plexion and high cheek-bones proclaimed his Indian 
origin. He was dressed in an old, light colored felt 
hat, a flaming-red sweater, and greasy brown trousers 
tucked into heavy red leggings that reached to his 
knees. His feet were clad in moosehide moccasins. 
On his back he carried an ordinary grain-bag, swung 
over his shoulder by means of a piece of bed-cord tied 
to the top and bottom. This evidently contained his 
traveling-outfit, and, as Norman came to know later, 
was the most common receptacle used for the purpose 
by the men in the Maine logging-crews. 

“ Well, there’s your Noble Red Man ! ” said the 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


31 


commercial traveler, as the big Indian staggered up 
the aisle and sank heavily into a vacant seat. 

“ And fairly well loaded with fire-water, I should 
think,” responded Norman. 

“ Oh, that’s nothing — a very common failing of the 
race.” 

For a few minutes conversation lagged, though Nor- 
man had the uncomfortable feeling that his companion 
was studying him out of. the corners of his eyes. 

“ Don’t like tobacco smoke, I take it,” said the 
traveling-man, presently, breaking the silence. 

“ I can’t say that I do,” confessed Norman. “ I 
shouldn’t have been in this car, only I wanted to see 
the woodsmen, and Mr. Ordway told me they almost 
always rode in the smoker.” 

“ So they do,” agreed the traveling-man. “ I don’t 
presume there is any rule of the road that forbids them 
to go elsewhere, but custom has so long decreed the 
smoking-car for logging-crews that none of them would 
feel at home anywhere else. Many a roistering crowd 
of them goes up and down this line, with the passengers 
on the other cars in blissful ignorance of their presence. 
They seem to think, however, that they own the smoker, 
and have a somewhat forceful way at times of making 
those around them conscious of their presence. It’s 
really surprising, however, how successfully the con- 
ductors and brakemen handle them, when they get out 
of bounds. Well, I must leave you here. So long. 
Take care of yourself,” he added, rising to his feet and 


32 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


picking up his valise, as the train came to a stop at a 
station which the brakeman announced as Lagrange. 
He gave Norman a cordial handshake and hurried out 
of the car. 

A moment later the train was under way again, and 
Norman found himself alone with his own reflections. 

He had left his home in Boston the morning before, 
and had arrived in Bangor about half past four in the 
afternoon, where Mr. Ordway had met him at the 
station with his team. They had driven immediately 
to several stores, where an outfit had been purchased for 
Norman, which Mr. Ordway had laughingly assured 
him would put him “ right in style ” among the woods- 
men. 

He had passed the night at Mr. Ordway’s house, and, 
acting upon that gentleman’s advice, had decided to 
leave with him most of the articles of apparel he had 
brought from home. “If you should wear those things 
in the woods,” said Mr. Ordway, “ the chances are that 
you would forthwith become known as the ‘ Prince of 
Wales,’ or some other royal personage, and never get 
on a real good footing with the men.” 

Norman was quick to appreciate the force of the 
suggestion, and had left Bangor at seven o’clock „the 
following morning, clad in garments that would have 
passed inspection with the most critical woodsman. 

Now that he was alone, he found himself looking 
at them with a renewed interest. On his head he wore 
a gray toque of heavy yarn, double-knit, and termi- 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 33 


nating in a good sized tassel. A pair of heavy gray 
trousers were rolled into substantial “ home-knit ” leg- 
gings of the same color, that came to his knees. His 
feet were encased in bellows-front, oil-tanned mocca- 
sins, warranted to be “ water-tight,” the legs of which 
extended nearly half the length of his leggings. A 
loose inner sole, and two pairs of home-knit stockings 
under his leggings, insured him warm feet, even in 
zero-weather. His blue flannel shirt was covered by 
a heavy gray sweater. On the back of his seat hung 
a dark-brown teamster’s coat of corduroy, lined with 
sheepskin having the wool on the outside. This was 
cut something after the style of a reefer extending 
several inches below the hips and fastening at the front 
with ball-and-socket snaps. The collar was of the ulster 
pattern, and, when turned up, extended well above his 
ears. 

A pair of snow-shoes, which Mr. Ordway had assured 
him he would find indispensable, and a “ take-down ” 
hammerless shotgun also constituted a part of his outfit. 
His extra clothing and various other belongings were 
carried in a cheap, canvas-covered extension-case, which 
Mr. Ordway said would be known in the woods as an 
“ extender,” and would be of a type common enough 
iij the crews to excite no unfavorable comment. Nor- 
man was well satisfied, from his observation of the 
woodsmen in the smoking-car, that the outfit procured 
for him by Mr. Ordway was entirely in harmony with 
the approved standards of the lumber-camps. 


34 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


With this comforting thought he turned his attention 
for a moment to a copy of a Bangor morning paper 
which the traveling-man had left in the seat. As his 
eye wandered, somewhat listlessly, over its telegraph- 
columns, the head-lines of an item under a Boston date- 
line suddenly caught and riveted his attention. It read 
as follows: 

STILL AT LARGE. 

POUCE SEARCH IN VAIN POR THE SEIPPERY 

“ceouter” keety. 

Boston, Dec. 12. — “Clouter” Kelty, whose sen- 
sational escape from the officers yesterday after- 
noon will be long remembered in police circles as 
one of the most daring escapades of this character 
in criminal annals, is still at large. Thus far the 
police have been unable to obtain any clue to his 
whereabouts. They are, however, making a vig- 
orous search, and it is believed that he will soon 
be in custody again. Photographs and descrip- 
tions have been mailed and wired all over the 
country, together with an offered reward of $1,000 
for his apprehension, and it is thought that his re- 
capture will only be a matter of a short time. The 
authorities are especially anxious to secure him 
again from the fact that newly discovered evi- 
dence, together with admissions made to De- 
tective Carter by his pal, known in criminal cir- 
cles as “Baggy” Snell, give the strongest reasons 
for believing that Kelty was really the murderer 
of Abraham Barnstein, who was so brutally as- 
saulted in the recent Fidelity Bank robbery, 
and who died at the city hospital last evening 
from the effects of his injuries. 

“ So that fellow is a murderer as well as thief,” 
reflected Norman, as he laid aside the paper. “ Well, 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 35 


that isn't surprising. I think he has the most villain- 
ous and repulsive countenance I ever saw on a human 
being. I certainly hope they’ll get him again. His 
bold break helped us out, though. I don’t believe the 
reporters had a word about our matter. If they did, 
it evidently wasn’t considered important enough to put 
upon the wire.” 

The train had now passed beyond the settlements, 
and was making its way at a good rate of speed through 
what appeared to be an interminable wilderness. Nor- 
man was impressed with the character of the train 
service. It was a novel sensation to ride in this wild 
country over a first-class road-bed on modern vestibule 
cars that would compare very favorably with those 
running in and out of Boston. The landscape was one 
so new and strange to Norman that he found himself 
watching it from the car window with a growing sense 
of its grandeur and fascination. Across frozen, snow- 
clad lakes, and through occasional stretches of low, 
brush-grown, burnt lands, whose blackened trunks bore 
mute testimony to the terrible ravages of the fire-king, 
he caught glimpses of highlands clad in the varying 
green of the living forests * — the tall, dark hoods of the 
spruces, the brown-patched foliage of the cedars, and 
the brighter greens of the fir-trees creeping up the 
ridges to mingle with the giant beech, birch, and maples, 
whose tall, bare crests towered against the fitful blue 
of the sky in all the arrogance of primeval strength. 

At times the train stopped briefly at little clearings 


36 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 

in the woods, where straggling houses of logs and 
shingled boards clustered about some busy sawmill, 
whose relentless rotaries tore the trunks of big forest- 
trees into long lumber, clapboards, laths, and shingles. 
Through the roofs of these houses projected a length 
or more of rusty stovepipe, from which poured volumes 
of black smoke that proclaimed the roaring fires that 
were necessary to make them habitable amid the frosts 
and cold, sweeping winds of a Maine winter. Side 
tracks, on which stood flat cars ready to receive for 
shipment the sawed lumber as fast as it was turned out, 
ran down to the mills. The conditions of life, and the 
country which inspired them, were so new to Norman 
that he found himself watching and speculating upon 
them with absorbing interest. 

When the train had left Bangor it had carried but 
a few woodsmen; but as it went deeper into the 
wilderness they came aboard from the various wayside 
stations, until the smoker was well filled with them. 
Strong, well-built fellows they were, clad in the uncouth 
but comfortable garb of the woods, and with much of 
the superfluous energy and superabundance of spirit 
that is characteristic of school-children when freed for 
a time from their accustomed tasks. The car resounded 
with their noisy banter and shouts of laughter. Vari- 
ous black bottles were passed among them, and they 
became constantly more and more boisterous as a result 
of their potations. 

Among the most jubilant members of the crowd was 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 37 


the big Indian, who had boarded the train at Alton. 
Naturally silent and taciturn, after the manner of his 
race, his indulgence in fire-water had worked a strange 
perversion in his nature. He evidently found it too 
irksome to remain in his seat, for he presently arose 
and began parading up and down the aisle, loudly 
asserting his ability to lick any man in the crowd. 
Fortunately for him, in the condition he was in, the 
rough fellows to whom he addressed this challenge 
chose to regard it as a joke, and greeted his perform- 
ance with uproarious laughter and boisterous jests. 

“ Hey, much Great Chief ! ” 

“ Big Medicine Man ! ” 

“ Loud-breathed Sol, the scalp-lifter ! ” 

These and various other remarks were showered 
upon him, from different parts of the car, and with a 
rapidity that made it impossible for him to locate any 
particular offender. The suggestion of scalps seemed 
to imbue the parading warrior with a new thought. 

“ Scalps ! Ugh ! Me take um ! ” he grunted ; and, 
suiting the action to the word, he began gathering in 
the hats and toques of the men about him, and con- 
tinued his collection up and down the aisle, amid the 
hilarious shouts of his victims, until he held under his 
arm a goodly collection of trophies. The fun was 
growing fast and furious, as the men sought to dodge 
the Indian’s long arm, when a big brakeman put in an 
appearance, and forced the protesting Sol back into 
his seat, with a warning that if he didn’t stay there 


38 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


he’d put him off the train. The captured hats were 
distributed to their various owners, and the brakeman 
was about to leave the car when the Indian rose to his 
feet and started down the aisle again. 

A loud shout of laughter greeted this move. 

“ Old Sol’s on the war-path again ! ” sang out a big 
woodsman. “ Hoe in, big Chief ! Whoop-er-up ! ” 

The Indian was about to act upon this suggestion 
when the brakeman once more forced him ignomini- 
ously back into his seat. 

“ Look-a-here, you,” he growled, wrathfully. 
“ We’ve stood ’bout all this funny business we’re 
going to. If you get out of this seat and interfere 
with the passengers again, I’ll fire you off this train, 
sure as preaching.” 

“ Ugh ! Squaw boy ! Can’t do um,” said the 
Indian, boastfully. 

“ Well, I rather think I can, and what’s more, I 
will, if you try to get gay again,” rejoined the brake- 
man, resolutely. He turned away and passed down 
the aisle ; but before he reached the car door the Indian 
was on his feet again. 

“ Me wantum more scalp ! ” he announced, with a 
grin, as he started down the aisle. His career, how- 
ever, was brief. The train came to a stop at Grind- 
stone station, and a moment later the brakeman came 
back into the car, accompanied by the conductor. 
Despite his resistance, which consisted in an effort to 
catch hold of the car seats, the Indian was hustled out 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 39 


of the car and onto the platform. A moment later 
the train was on its way again. The conductor in his 
passage through the smoker stopped to take the names 
and addresses of several of the passengers, including 
Norman’s. The woodsmen visibly subsided, and the 
episode, apparently, was closed without a ripple. 

Norman had been a little surprised that some of the 
woodsmen had not gone to the Indian’s assistance, but 
he had yet to learn the wholesome respect in which 
brass buttons are usually held by men of this class. 


CHAPTER IV 


NORMAN MEETS NATE COLLINS 


“Oh, the logger’s life’s the life for me, 

Heigho ! Heigho ! 

Where baked beans grow on the black spruce tree, 

Heigho ! Heigho ! 

Where hands are hard but hearts are free; 

Just take your bag and join our spree; 

Come, bunk with us on Letter C 

Heigho! Heigho! Heigho!” 

The voices of the woodsmen joined lustily in this 
song — the evident composition of some camp poet — 
in a strenuous attempt to make up in enthusiasm and 
noise for any possible lack of harmony. 

The atmosphere of the overheated car was becoming 
intolerable, and Norman felt obliged to forego the 
succeeding stanzas of the song, for the sake of secur- 
ing a breath of pure air. As he stepped out into the 
vestibule, he shivered with the cold, and for the first 
time during the day began to have some appreciation 
of the rigors of a Maine winter. Through the win- 
dows he noted the gusts of wind that whistled about 
the train and went whirling into the woods beyond the 
track among the swaying tree-tops, carrying along a 
burden of snow. Norman was about to return to the 
smoking-car, for he was still loath to part company 
40 



Norman felt that the Indian would slip from his grasp. 

Page J/.2. 





ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 41 


with the woodsmen, when, through the windows in the 
door of the vestibule, he caught sight of the swarthy 
features of the Indian who had been put off the train 
at Grindstone. He was riding upon the narrow car- 
step that projected beyond the closed door, maintaining 
his precarious foothold by hanging to the brass side 
rails with hands already cramped and numbed with the 
cold. Norman recognized the fact that the man was 
in a position of great peril. At any moment he might 
lose his precarious hold and be thrown from the train, 
amid conditions that would probably insure his death, 
even if he were not killed outright by the fall. Obvi- 
ously his great danger had partially sobered the Indian. 
There was a wild appeal in his eye, and it was evident 
that he was shouting some call for help; but his voice 
was drowned in the whistle of the wind and the roar 
of the train. 

To think, with Norman, was to act. Hastily pulling 
up the platform above the steps to the vestibule, he 
swung open the door, and, with one hand upon the side 
railing, reached forward with the other and grasped 
the Indian firmly by the collar of his sweater, securing 
at the same time a good grip upon the deerskin vest 
which lay beneath it. His assistance did not come a 
moment too soon. Scarcely had he secured his hold 
upon him, when the Indian's half-frozen hands relaxed 
their hold upon the side rail, and he lurched outward 
with a force that almost dragged Norman from the 
steps. Fortunately the boy was able to brace one of 


42 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


his feet against the narrow door-casing, and save both 
himself and the Indian. It was fortunate for Norman 
that he was a strong boy, for it was only by a supreme 
effort that he was able to pull the big Indian forward, 
face down, upon the steps, and hold him there with 
both feet clear of the step, and nothing save Norman’s 
grip upon him to save him from falling from the train. 
It was a moment of great peril. Norman raised his 
voice to the highest pitch and shouted for help; but 
the woodsmen in the smoking-car were still singing 
the interminable verses descriptive of life at the camp 
on Letter C, and failed to hear him. The situation 
was desperate. Norman felt that he could not main- 
tain his hold much longer, and in spite of all he could 
do the Indian would slip from his grasp, if, indeed, 
he did not pull him after him. Fortunately, help was 
at hand. A passenger on his way through the vesti- 
bule saw the situation, and opening the door of the 
smoker, gave a call for help. There was an immediate 
response. The woodsmen ceased their song, and came 
rushing into the vestibule. Strong hands were laid 
upon the Indian and he was promptly dragged up the 
steps and into the smoker, where he and Norman 
immediately became the center of a crowd of excited 
and curious men. 

" How did he git there ? ” questioned a number of 
the group in chorus. 

“ I don’t know,” gasped Norman, who was still pant- 
ing from his exertions. “ I suppose he waited until 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 43 


the train started and then tried to get aboard again. 
I saw him hanging on, and lent him a hand. ,, 

“ Ah gass you reach heem ’bout rat tarn,” declared 
a big Frenchman whom the other woodsmen called 
Pete. “ Ba gosh! I t’ink hees life ban save ba you! ” 

“ That’s so,” “ Sure t’ing,” “ Bat yo’ life,” came 
from the others of the group, whose members were 
evidently of mixed nationalities. 

“ I think not,” said Norman, deprecatingly. “ If 
you fellows hadn’t got along just when you did, I 
reckon we’d both have got a tumble.” 

“ You do beeg job youse’f jus’ sam’,” insisted Pete, 
and it was evident that his companions coincided in 
this opinion. 

“What’s the row now, boys?” demanded the big 
brakeman, who had just entered the smoker and saw 
that something unusual had occurred. “Well! Well! 
of all things, if there isn’t that Injun again!” he 
added in amazement, as his eye fell upon the big red 
man, whom the men had placed in one of the front 
seats, where he sat blinking in a dazed but growing 
appreciation of his narrow escape. “ How’d that crit- 
ter get back here ? ” 

“ He tried to get on the train as we were leaving 
Grindstone,” explained Norman. 

“ De boy here save heem hees life,” interposed Pete. 

“ With the help of the fellows here,” added Norman. 

“ Looks to me as if his fingers were nipped a little,” 
declared the brakeman. 


44 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Not quite, but mighty nigh to it,” returned a big 
woodsman who was chafing the Indian’s numbed hands. 

“ Will you look after him ? ” asked the brakeman, 
turning to Norman. 

“ I’ll do my best.” 

“ Thanks. I don’t imagine he’ll try to fly his kite 
again. Looks pretty supple. Harry McMurray says 
he’s never had a better man in his crews. Straight as 
a string in camp. Seems as if he always made his trips 
to the woods occasions for celebrating. He’s made the 
journey in sections more’n once. We can’t stand for 
any funny business aboard the train, you know.” 

“ Of course not,” acquiesced Norman. “ Did I 
understand you to say that he’s bound for Harry 
McMurray’s camps ? ” 

“ Sure ! He’s worked for him off and on for some 
years past. I notice that when a man goes with 
McMurray for a winter he generally gets a habit of 
drifting back again. It’s wonderful what a hold that 
fellow gets on his men, and they say he’s a driver, too. 
The company has a lot of confidence in him. He’s 
‘ It ’ up there.” 

“ I’m bound for one of his camps myself,” confided 
Norman. 

“ Well, you’ll like McMurray,” returned the brake- 
man, confidently. “ They all do. I must get out,” he 
added hastily, as a shrill whistle floated back from the 
engine. “ We’re coming into Stacy ville.” 

The brakeman hurried away, and Norman took the 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 45 

vacant seat beside the Indian, which had, apparently, 
been reserved for him by common consent. It was 
evident from the friendly looks cast in his direction, 
that his rescue of the Indian had aroused the curiosity 
and won the good-will of the woodsmen. The Indian 
still sat in a half stupor; but big Pete, who had taken 
a seat facing him, hastened to assure Norman that the 
man he had so bravely rescued would suffer no ill 
effects from his adventure. 

“ She be all rat prattee soon,” he announced. 

“ I’m glad to hear it,” said Norman. “ Do you 
know him ? ” 

J* Ba cripe ! I t’ink so. She ban Solomon Socka- 
basin. ’Mos’ ev’ry wan know heem. Dey call heem 
Sol Soc.” 

“ Do you know Harry McMurray ? ” 

“ Ba tonnerre ! I gass so. I work wit’ heem, two, 
tree winter.” 

“ That's where I'm going.” 

“ Ba gosh ! dat good. I ban go dere mase’f.” 

“Do you know Nate Collins?” 

“ M’sieu Colleens ! De scalarre ? I know heem 
long tarn. Work wit heem two, tree winter — mebbe 
more.” 

“ Well, I was going to meet him at Sherman. I’ve 
never seen him, and shouldn’t know him. I wish you 
would point him out to me. My name is Norman 
Carver.” 

“ Wit’ plaisir.” 


46 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


At this point the Indian, who had been curled up in 
a corner of the seat in a half stupor, suddenly straight- 
ened up, and gave an uncertain glance at the occupants 
of the car. A partial appreciation of the situation 
appeared to dawn upon his fuddled senses. His eye 
brightened as his gaze rested upon Norman, and he 
laid a friendly hand upon the boy’s shoulder. 

“ Me know. Saveum Sol’s life. Sol no forgetum,” 
he said. 

“ That’s all right,” returned Norman, with some 
embarrassment. “ Any of the fellows would have 
done the same in my place.” 

“ Sol no forgetum,” reiterated the Indian. 

“ Sherman ! Sherman ! ” called the brakeman, as the 
train drew up at a small station. 

Pete hurried out of the car and a moment later 
returned with a tall, spare man, whose only equipment 
appeared to be a pair of snow-shoes and a scaler’s rule. 

“ M’sieu Carvarre, M’sieu Colleens,” announced 
Pete, pausing in front of Norman. 

“ Glad to know you, Mr. Carver,” said the new- 
comer, with a cordial handshake. “ Your father has 
written me about you. He and I were boys together. 
We slept side by side in the same bunk the first winter 
that we were in the woods.” He took a seat beside 
Pete, facing Norman, and looked at the boy with 
kindly interest. “ I should have suspected who you 
were, even if Pete Bedotte hadn’t pointed you out. 
You favor your father.” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 47 


“ I’ve been told there was a family resemblance,” 
said Norman, “ and I’ve often heard my father speak 
f of you.” 

“ We had a great many good times together when 
we were youngsters,” returned the scaler, “ and I hope 
I may be able to help you enjoy your winter in the 
woods.” 

“ Thank you,” returned Norman, gratefully. “ This 
is my first visit to the big woods, and I may ask a good 
many foolish questions.” 

“ Questions of that kind are never foolish,” returned 
the scaler, kindly. “ Boys who ask them are the ones 
who are willing to learn. I shall be glad at all times 
to give you any information that I can. The brake- 
man tells me that you pulled our friend Sol here out 
of a tight fix,” he added, with an abrupt change of 
subject. 

“ Dat ban jus’ so,” corroborated Pete. 

“ Any one of the men here would have done the 
same in my place,” declared Norman, deprecatingly. 

“ Perhaps so,” said the scaler, doubtfully. “We 
can’t any of us tell just what we might do in a pinch. 
The fact remains, however, that you saved him. 
Depend upon it, my boy, you have won him for all 
time. These Indians are not easy to get close to, but 
they never forget a kindness, and are very loyal in 
their friendships. Hey, Sol ? ” 

“ Sol no forgetum,” returned the Indian, stolidly. 

The scaler nodded his head approvingly; and, turn- 


48 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


in g to Pete, began to question him regarding the log- 
ging operations at the camps about Quadrate Lake. 
From their conversation Norman learned that the big 
Frenchman had been at work under Harry McMurray 
since early fall, and that he had been called home by 
the illness of his wife. He also learned that the most 
of the crews were still yarding; but that they expected 
to begin hauling to the landings about the middle of 
January, and that the company was planning to secure 
thirty millions of logs. These facts, however, had very 
little meaning to him, and he improved the opportunity 
to study the tall scaler. Nathan Collins was one of the 
best-known men in northern Maine, a clear-headed man 
of affairs, who, though he lived on a farm, had won a 
wide reputation as a successful guide and woodsman. 
He was a close observer and lover of nature, who had 
ranged the big woods more or less from boyhood, who 
had worked in the lumber-camps and on the drives, 
who was thoroughly skilled in woodcraft, and who was 
honored by all who knew him for his sterling character 
and his practical common sense. Although past middle 
life, his form was as erect, his eye was as bright and 
his mind as active as at any period of his life. The 
best woodsmen admitted that it was no small task to 
follow him in the forest; for he apparently made play 
of long tramps that taxed the endurance of much 
younger men, whom hard work and practical experience 
were supposed to have toughened to all the rigorous 
requirements of the wilderness. He was a man of 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 49 


good height, full-chested, square-shouldered, long of 
body and arm, and seemingly indefatigable in any work 
he undertook. Time had dealt lightly with him. His 
hair was only slightly tinged with gray, and the first 
white streaks were just beginning to show on the sides 
of his beard. His eyes were kindly, and blue. He 
looked one squarely in the face in conversation, and 
spoke with a certain calmness, and deliberation of 
speech, that never failed to command the respect and 
hold the attention of his hearer. 

In the company of this interesting man, together with 
big Pete Bedotte, whose quaint expressions were a con- 
stant source of entertainment, and the Indian, whose 
comments, though made mostly in monosyllables, were 
frequently very pat to the subject under discussion, 
Norman continued his journey, until about the middle 
of the afternoon, when the party left the train at Game- 
wood siding. This was a lumber-camp in the midst 
of the forest, which served as a distributing-point for 
the supplies forwarded to the various camps of the 
Lakeland Lumber Company. 

Norman was conscious, as he stood with his com- 
panions upon the long log platform beside the iron 
track that stretched away from sight into the unbroken 
wilderness, that he had for weeks to come bidden 
good-by to old scenes; that his long journey was prac- 
tically ended, and that he was about to enter upon a 
new life that would be vastly different in its associa- 
tions and its experiences from any he had known before. 


CHAPTER V 


A NIGHT AT GAMEWOOD SIDING 

“ How are you, Mr. Collins ? ” 

“ How are you, Hardy? Glad to see you!” 

The scaler shook hands very cordially with a short, 
thick-set, swarthy-complexioned man who came to greet 
him from the upper part of the long log platform where 
some express packages had been deposited. 

“ Didn’t know you patronized the express fellows,” 
he said, with a smile. 

“ We don’t when we can help it,” returned Hardy. 
“ We run most of our supplies onto our sidetrack in 
carload lots. Who have you here? ” he added, turning 
to Norman. 

“ This is my young friend, Norman Carver. He’s 
going to try the clerk’s job at Camp 4. Shake hands 
with Dave Hardy, foreman of Camp No. 1,” he said, 
turning to Norman. “ This is the distributing-point 
for all the company’s camps in this section,” continued 
the scaler, after the formalities had been observed. 
“ Dave is handling supplies for about two hundred men 
and forty or fifty horses — and looking after the crews 
in two camps besides.” 

“ Just about work enough to keep me out of mis- 
So 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 51 


chief,” said Hardy, lightly, a rare smile lighting up his 
rugged features. “ I’m mighty glad to know you, 
Carver. Was on the lookout for you. Mr. Ordway 
wrote me you were coming.” 

“ When does the next tote-team go to Quadrate 
Lake ? ” inquired the scaler. 

“ I’m layin’ out to send Vede Pelotte in there to-mor- 
row morning, if a carload of oats I’m expecting shows 
up on the freight.” 

“ Then I guess we’ll hang up with you to-night,” 
said the scaler, “ and go along with Vede in the morn- 
ing. I’d be glad to hoof it; but I’m afraid it might 
be a little strenuous for Norman at the start. I expect, 
however, that he’ll be able to hold his own with any 
of us before the winter’s gone.” 

“ Sure thing,” responded Hardy, with a glance at 
Norman’s trim, athletic figure. “ Built just right for 
it. Take your things up to the beaver house, and make 
yourselves at home. Be with you a little later. You’ll 
find Mrs. Hardy there. She’s clerking for us this 
winter.” 

“ The beaver house? ” repeated Norman, inquiringly, 
as, extension-case in hand, he followed the scaler toward 
the collection of log camps that stood a short distance 
beyond the station platform. 

“ Yes, that’s what he said,” returned Mr. Collins, 
with a smile. “ It’s the name woodsmen in this section 
give the small camps used by the boss and the clerk. 
It’s really the camp office and store. Usually the 


52 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


scalers stop there too, although, occasionally, they are 
provided with a small camp of their own. Here we 
are,” he added, stopping before a small log building, 
the door of which, hung upon wooden hinges, was 
made of rough boards cleated together. The space 
between these boards was battened with pieces of laths. 
A straight piece of rounded maple was securely nailed 
to the front of this door, and served as a stationary 
latch, which, sliding over a large plug somewhat 
rounded in the center, and securely driven into an 
auger-hole in one of the logs, held the door, when 
closed, securely in place. It was one of many ingenious 
devices, born of the necessities of the woods life, which 
were to come to Norman’s attention, and his glance 
rested upon it with curious interest. 

At the very threshold the door was pushed open by 
Mrs. Hardy, who gave them a very cordial welcome. 
She was a dark-haired woman of medium size, quick 
of motion, and with an alert, intelligent face. She was 
simply but neatly dressed, and the primitive camp sur- 
roundings served only to emphasize the fact that she 
was a very capable woman and a born lady. Norman 
learned later, from Mr. Collins, that she was a grad- 
uate of one of the State normal schools, and for a 
number of years prior to her marriage to Hardy had 
been a successful teacher. 

“ Come right in,” she said, heartily. 

“ This is Norman Carver, Mrs. Hardy,” announced 
the scaler, as they entered the camp. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 53 


“ I’m pleased to know you, Mr. Carver,” was the 
smiling response. “ Dave and I have been expecting 
you for the past day or two. Just hang your things 
up on those nails back of the door, and make yourself 
perfectly at home. This house will be yours to-night. 
We shall give you full possession/’ 

“ We didn’t come here to turn you out of house and 
home,” protested the scaler. 

“ You don’t need to,” declared Mrs. Hardy, cor- 
dially. “ I’m going home to Aerie lake on the 4 :30 
freight to act as chaperon for Miss Margie Seavey. 
She’s been keeping house for her father at their cottage 
by the lake, and is anxious to make a tour of the 
camps.” 

“ Her father is a member of the Lakeland Company, 
and has general charge of its sawmills and logging 
operations in this section, with headquarters at Aerie 
lake,” explained the scaler. 

“ I beg pardon,” said Mrs. Hardy, addressing Nor- 
man ; “ I supposed you knew all about it.” 

“ I really don’t know anything about it,” confessed 
Norman. “ My father’s interest is a silent one, and — 
well — he has never discussed his business affairs with 
me. It may, perhaps, surprise you, but I never even 
knew of his connection with this company until he 
decided to send me up here.” 

“ Your father always did have a way of keeping his 
own counsel — even when he was a boy,” observed 
Mr. Collins. 


54 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ I hope the men won’t learn of father’s interest,” 
added Norman. “ I want to stand on my own footing. 
That was also father’s wish.” 

“ You need have no worry about that,” assured Mrs. 
Hardy. “ Only two or three of the foremen know it, 
and they are not in the habit of sharing their confi- 
dences with the men.” 

“ They are woodland sphinxes. They have to be,” 
added Mr. Collins. 

“ I’m glad to know it,” said Norman, in a tone of 
relief. 

“ Miss Seavey and I are going to make you lots of 
trouble at Camp 4 for a day or two,” declared Mrs. 
Hardy, with a smile. “ We shall preempt the beaver 
house. It won’t be so bad, however, for us to stop at 
Camp 4 as it would be at some of the others. They 
have a special mansion for the scalers there.” 

“ A converted grain-hovel,” explained Mr. Collins. 

“ You will feel repaid for all your sacrifices when 
you meet Miss Seavey,” continued Mrs. Hardy. “ I 
assure you she is a very charming young lady. What ! 
blushing?” she added, with dancing eyes, holding up 
a warning finger, as a faint flush mantled Norman’s 
face. “ Really, I don’t know as it will be safe for me 
to let you become acquainted with her. But there, 
make yourselves at home. I must run over to the 
main camp and speak to the cook.” 

Throwing a cape over her shoulders, Mrs. Hardy 
left the beaver house, followed a moment later by the 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 55 


scaler; and, seating himself in a big chair by the fire, 
Norman proceeded to study, at some leisure, the camp 
and its equipment. 

Like all the buildings in the clearing, it was made 
of logs. It was a 20x14 structure, divided into two 
rooms by a board partition running from side to side 
midway of its length. The rear room was sheathed 
up with mill boards, over which had been pasted and 
hung a number of illustrations cut from pictorial pub- 
lications, and a good sized collection of highly colored 
advertising-chromos. This was evidently used by the 
Hardys as a bedroom. To the left of the bedroom 
door, in the front room, stood a big Franklin stove, the 
pipe from which projected through the roof. On one 
side of this stove a hole had been cut about two feet 
from the floor through the partition, enabling the 
stove to furnish heat for both rooms. On the right 
of the bedroom door, against the partition, was a camp 
“ desk,” an inclined table made out of box-boards, and 
supported by two board braces which extended at a 
sharp angle from the outer edge of the cross cleats to 
the floor, where they were securely spiked. The high 
stool which stood before this “ desk ” was of woods 
manufacture, and riveted Norman’s attention. It was 
a disc, about eight inches thick, sawed from the end of 
a hardwood log. Into the bottom of this disc had been 
inserted a hardwood pedestal about two feet in length 
and four inches in diameter. This was firmly set in 
a hole in the floor, which was made of hewn logs. It 


56 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


looked for all the world like a big toadstool, but evi- 
dently served the practical purpose for which it was 
intended. 

The space between the logs of which the beaver house 
was built was thoroughly chinked with moss. Though 
rough, the structure was cosy; and, despite the low 
temperature outside, Norman was obliged to close the 
draught of the stove to prevent the room from becom- 
ing uncomfortably hot. 

Two large covered boxes, securely padlocked, that 
had evidently served originally as packing-cases, stood 
in one corner at the front of the office room. Above 
them were several rough board shelves, piled high with 
“ home-knit ” mittens, leggings, and stockings, boxes 
of plug tobacco, lamp- and lantern chimneys, lumber- 
men’s rubbers, matches, and various other articles of 
merchandise. 

“What’s this?” inquired Norman of Mrs. Hardy, 
who reentered the beaver house while he was inspecting 
the articles. 

“ That’s our wangan.” 

“Your wangan?” 

“Yes — the woods name, you know — for a camp 
store.” 

“ And are these big boxes part of the outfit? ” 

“Yes, a very important part. They contain our 
ready-made clothing department. We can fit you out 
with caps, shirts — blue or red — trousers, sweaters, 
teamsters’ coats, mackinaws or pontiacs.” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 57 


“ Mackinaws and pontiacs ? May I ask what those 
are?” inquired Norman. 

“ Those are coats very much in style with woods- 
men,” returned Mrs. Hardy. “ Mackinaws are made 
out of heavy woven woolen cloth, similar to what horse 
blankets are made of. They have a belt of the same 
material and very much resemble a Norfolk in cut. 
The goods from which they are made are usually 
woven in plaids, and frequently in colors loud enough 
to be heard a long distance. The pontiacs are also 
woolen coats, single-breasted, but without the belts. 
The runners tell us that they are made of goods that 
are knit and shrunk. Like the mackinaws, they are 
very warm, and well suited to the needs of the woods.” 

“ Do the men patronize the wangan much ? ” 

“ Yes, to a large extent — especially in the matter 
of smoking and chewing-tobacco. They persist in 
calling it the ‘ roguery-box,’ and so it is, I presume, 
in some cases. The Lakeland Company, however, has 
been content to charge its crews merely a fair profit on 
wangan supplies.” 

“ Some of the men bring about all they need for the 
winter in their bags or extenders,” added Mr. Collins, 
who had re-entered the beaver house in season to catch 
the last part of Mrs. Hardy’s statement. “ I know of 
one man who even tries, and with some success, to 
sponge his tobacco out of the men. He saves ’most 
every cent he earns during the winter, and then squan- 
ders it all with the most lavish prodigality in one roar- 


58 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


in g debauch when he goes out of the woods with his 
wad in the spring.” 

“ He doubtless figures that he throws away a glass 
of rum every time he spends a dime at the wangan,” 
said Mrs. Hardy. “ There are just as many kinds of 
every-day human nature in the logging woods as 
anywhere else.” 

“ And a rather greater percentage of odd characters, 
I reckon,” added Mr. Collins. 

“ Don’t you get lonesome here where there are no 
other ladies?” asked Norman, turning to Mrs. Hardy. 

“ Not often. My work keeps me too busy to think 
about it. We have to mail the central office at Bangor 
every other Monday a very minute account of the fort- 
night’s operations — the work of the different crews ; 
the logs cut, and who cut them; the logs hauled, and 
by whom; the supplies received, and how distributed; 
the wangan sales ; the pay accounts of the men — all 
these, and many other matters have to be kept in detail, 
so that there is little time for vain regrets. Busy people 
are contented ’most anywhere. Besides, I know that 
if the life here should ever pall upon me, I could take 
the train and in a short time be back again in my own 
comfortable and cosy little home.” 

“ Your list of a clerk’s duties makes me distrustful 
of my own fitness for the work,” said Norman, dubi- 
ously. 

“ No question about it. You’ll do finely,” returned 
Mrs. Hardy, with conviction. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 59 


“ You must excuse me now,” she added, opening the 
door to the sleeping-room. “ I must pack up a few 
things before the freight gets along.” 

“ Your nights come early here,” said Norman to Mr. 
Collins, noting the long shadows on the floor. 

“ Yes, it begins to get dark about four o’clock,” was 
the response. “ Guess we’d better light up a little,” 
and rising from his seat beside the stove, the scaler 
lighted the lamps that were fastened at several places 
on the wall. 

“A little light on the subject, eh?” said Dave 
Hardy, who entered the beaver house while this work 
was in progress. 

“ Yes. Thought I might be useful as well as orna- 
mental,” returned the scaler. 

“ Is that the freight coming?” inquired Mrs. Hardy, 
appearing from the sleeping room in cloak and hat. 

“ Due in about five minutes,” returned her husband. 
“ You needn’t rush, though. I reckon they’ll have a 
car or two to sidetrack for us.” 

Soon after the long freight pulled in. Many of its 
cars were flat “ empties ” which were evidently being 
carried along to be loaded at the sawmills further up 
the line. 

When they had said their good-bys to Mrs. Hardy, 
and the long train had taken its departure, Norman 
accompanied the scaler and Dave Hardy back to the 
beaver house. 

“ I think we’d better get our supper ahead of the 


60 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


men,” said the foreman, as the door closed behind 
them. “ I’ve spoken to the cook, and he’ll have it 
ready for us. You’ll find a chance in the bedroom if 
you’d like to wash up.” 

A few minutes later Norman and the scaler followed 
Hardy into the cook’s camp, a low structure, built, 
though on a considerably larger scale, on much the 
same plan as the beaver house. It was a big room, 
on one side of which was a large cooking-range over 
which the cook and his assistant, with sleeves rolled 
up, and wearing big aprons of white canvas, were 
busily engaged in preparing a supper for fifty hungry 
men. Volumes of steam were rising from big kettles 
and the atmosphere of the camp was filled with appe- 
tizing odors of cooking food. 

On the side of the camp opposite the stove were set 
four long, rough tables, covered with figured oilcloth 
of a dull-brown color. Long settees of hewn logs, 
with legs set in auger-holes, extended the full length 
of each table on either side. The plates and other 
dishes with which the tables were set were all of tin, 
while iron knives, forks and spoons did duty for table- 
ware. Big tin basins in the center of the table were 
filled with steaming food. Some contained stewed 
prunes, others boiled potatoes, and still others a beef 
“ stifle.” There were also basins of warmed-over 
beans, and big tin plates heaped high with light, white 
biscuits, hot from the oven. Smaller plates, also of 
tin, held big squares of butterine, which tasted so well 



In the cook’s camp. — Page 60 

















ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 61 


that Norman never suspected it to be anything but a 
genuine dairy product. Pint dippers stood beside each 
plate, which the cookee proceeded to fill from the steam- 
ing nozzle of a big ten-quart teapot. With the addition 
of granulated sugar and condensed cream, Norman was 
ready to pronounce this beverage quite equal to any- 
thing of the kind he had ever found in the best hotels 
of his native city. It is probable, though, that the sur- 
prisingly fine appetite he brought to the repast had 
something to do with this judgment. Hearty eaters 
are the rule in the big woods, and already Norman was 
coming into harmony with his surroundings. The food 
tasted good in spite of the rude and primitive character 
of the service, and he was surprised at the substantial 
meal he was able to make. 

“ They feed very differently now from what they 
used to in the old days/’ said the scaler. “ When I 
first went into the woods all we had for a diet was pork 
and beans, three times a day; sheet biscuits, molasses 
doughnuts, and tea sweetened with molasses. Beef, 
sugar, potatoes, butter, coffee, condensed milk, etc., 
were luxuries undreamed of in those days.” 

“ Sure thing,” asserted Hardy, “ but you see we have 
to feed well. Otherwise we couldn’t hold cur men.” 

“ By the way, what has becopie of Pete Bedotte and 
the Indian?” inquired Norman. 

“ Oh, they are pretty well in to Quadrate Lake by this 
time,” returned the scaler. “ They struck out as soon 
as they left the train. Only twenty-two miles to go.” 


62 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ What, walking?” asked Norman, incredulously. 

“ Sure,” replied Hardy, with a smile of amusement 
at Norman’s very evident surprise. “ Pelting the road 
is a good deal of a habit in the big woods.” 

“ I don’t want you to make any exceptions to your 
rules in my case,” said Norman, earnestly. “ I want 
to be used exactly like the other men.” 

“ So you shall be,” returned Hardy, with a smile. 
“ The men get many a lift on the tote-teams, and I’ve 
made all arrangements for you to go into Camp 4 with 
Vede Pelotte at half-past five in the morning.” 

As they stood outside the cook’s camp for a moment 
before returning to the beaver house, Norman could 
not help being impressed with the solemn grandeur of 
his surroundings. A myriad of frosty stars twinkled 
brightly in the clear, cold sky. The moon was begin- 
ning to show above the tall spruces and firs that circled 
the clearing, bathing the rough camps and hovels in its 
soft and mellow light. Down the logging-roads that 
led from the clearing came the tinkle of bells, and the 
hoarse shouts of men. Horses and crews were return- 
ing, after a hard day’s work in the woods, to the gen- 
erous fare and rough comforts of the camp. 

Slowly Norman filled his lungs with the clear night 
air, cold, dry, and pungent with the aromatic odors of 
the spruce, the cedar, and the balsam-fir. Already the 
spirit of the forest was weaving its charm about his 
heart, and he was still under its magic spell when he 
followed his companions back into the beaver house. 


CHAPTER VI 


“ JUMPING ” A FRENCHMAN, AND WHAT CAME OF IT 

“ You will have the whole ranch to yourselves,” 
announced Dave Hardy, as he pulled on a blanket 
mackinaw over his heavy sweater, and took down a 
pair of snow-shoes from a peg beside the door. 

“ Sorry to lose you, Dave,” said the scaler, regret- 
fully. 

“ And I’m sorry to go,” declared Hardy, with a 
smile; “but, you see, I told Jim Cookson I’d be with 
him to-night. I guess you know him — don’t you ? ” 

“ Yes. Met him one winter over on Sourdnahunk,” 
said the scaler. 

“ Well, he’s boss at our Beetle Brook camp — ’bout 
five miles from here — this winter. He’s yarded some 
mighty handsome spruce down there. Going to begin 
hauling to the landing with two of his teams to-morrow. 
I’ve got to settle up with some of his men who are 
going out in the morning. I may send two or three 
of the best of them into camp at Quadrate Lake. They 
won’t be entirely through yarding there for a month 
yet.” 

“ Don’t need to,” said the scaler. “ It’s a short haul, 
and all down hill.” 


63 


6 4 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Oh, we’ll hustle it into the lake, all right, if the 
snow holds on. The company’s out for a big cut this 
winter, and McMurray’s willing to take some chances.” 

“ How big a cut do you expect? ” asked the scaler, 
with interest. 

“ Well, we’re out for thirty million, and I don’t think 
we’ll come far short of it, if these conditions hold good. 
There’s only five feet of snow in the woods at the 
present time. Well, take care of yourselves,” and, 
tucking his snow-shoes under his arm, Hardy passed 
out into the night. 

“ I should think he’d be afraid to take such a trip 
in the night,” declared Norman, when the door had 
closed behind him. 

“ Oh, he’s used to it,” returned the scaler, with a 
smile. “ It’s a beautiful night, and he’ll make the jaunt 
very easily on his snow-shoes. Why, bless you, I’ve 
been out in the woods many a night when it was so 
dark I couldn’t see my hand before me.” 

“ But he said he was going to pay off the men. He 
must have some money with him,” suggested Norman. 

“ Quite a wad of it,” admitted the scaler. “ I cal- 
culate, though, it’s ’bout as safe in his pocket as it 
would be in the Bank of England. No one in these 
parts would care to get into a scrap with Dave Hardy, 
for all he’s such a quiet fellow, and ’tends strictly to 
business. Most of the men are paid with time bills, 
but we have to use a little money along with them. 
Draw up to the fire and make yourself comfortable,” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 65 


he added, cordially, as he swung back the cover of the 
big box stove and dropped several sticks of wood upon 
its glowing coals. “ The wind’s fetching ’round into 
the north, and we’re going to have a frosty night; but 
I reckon we’ll keep fairly comfortable in spite of it.” 

The door swung open on its creaking hinges, to 
admit a tall, lank woodsman, whose sallow countenance 
was half hidden by a fortnight’s growth of scraggly 
beard. 

“ How air ye, Mr. Collins? ” he said, cordially, seat- 
ing himself upon an empty soap-box in front of the 
stove. 

“ How are you, Skinner ? ” responded the scaler. 
“ Thought you were logging on Sebois waters this 
winter.” 

“ So I was — for a spell,” admitted the newcomer, 
“ but I couldn’t stand the pressure. They’ve got every- 
thing up there this winter; ’bout half of Europe, an’ 
not one in ten on ’em can speak United States. They’re 
a pretty green lot; but men are scurce, ’n’ ’most any- 
thing goes, these days. I reckon there ain’t many on 
’em ever smelt boughs afore.” 

“ Our woods crews are not what they used to be 
when they were made up almost wholly of our farmers 
and their sons,” admitted Mr. Collins ; “ but then you 
see we didn’t lumber on any such large scale as we do 
now. The city employment agencies scrape up some 
mighty poor material at times. I understand, how- 
ever, that the Lakeland Lumber Company has been 


66 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


fortunate enough to get some smart crews this 
winter.” 

“ Good workers,” admitted Skinner, grudgingly. 
“Let McMurray alone for that; but ’most all on ’em 
are frog-eaters.” 

“ Well, I’ve usually found a good French crew about 
as satisfactory as any,” declared the scaler. “ They’re 
not inclined to be quarrelsome, and, barring a dis- 
position to drift about more or less from one camp to 
another, are pretty good men in the woods, or, for 
that matter, on the drive. Shake hands with Mr. Car- 
ver,” he added, with an evident desire to change the 
subject. 

“ Glad to see ye, Carver,” said Skinner, affably, 
extending a calloused hand. “ Goin’ to stop a spell ? ” 

“ He’s going to clerk at Quadrate Lake,” explained 
the scaler. 

“ Well, I reckon Billy Eustace will be mighty glad 
to see ye. He’s been the whole show there, so far, 
they tell me, layin’ out the cuttin’s, keepin’ books, 
’tendin’ wangan, filin’ saws — on the go all the time. 
The boys say he hain’t ben out here this winter.” 

“ I hope I may be able to help him some,” said 
Norman, modestly. 

“ Oh, ye can — a whole heap,” returned Skinner, 
confidently. “ As you was sayin’, Mr. Collins,” he 
continued, turning to the scaler, “ these Canucks are 
peaceful fellers ; but they’re tame — too durn tame for 
me. Work here’s a good deal like treadin’ a threshin’- 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 67 


machine. Nothin’ doin’ on the side. It’s eat, work, 
’n’ sleep six days in the week, ’n’ eat ’n’ sleep the 
seventh. I’d like t’ see suthin’ shake up the dry bones 
a bit. I would, by gum ! ” 

“You didn’t come here, I reckon, to hold parlor 
charades,” said the scaler, coldly. 

The door opened to admit ten or a dozen woodsmen, 
who evidently knew Mr. Collins, and who greeted him 
cordially in broken English that proclaimed their Cana- 
dian French origin. They were mostly young men, 
tall and straight, and lithe of movement. Their hair, 
still wet, was neatly combed, and their faces glowed 
from recent scrubbings at the camp sink. As they 
nodded in a friendly way to Norman, he was impressed 
by the jaunty grace with which they wore the rough 
garments of the woods — and somehow the moccasins, 
larrigans, leggings, sweaters, mackinaws, and pon- 
tiacs, seemed in perfect harmony with the balsam- 
laden atmosphere, and primitive surroundings of the 
camp. 

It was evident that the coming of these visitors was 
irritating to Skinner, who retired into the bedroom, 
from the door of which he scowled upon them wrath- 
fully. “ Frog-eaters,” he muttered, under his breath, 
in tones that were plainly audible to Norman. If, how- 
ever, the new visitors heard the disparaging epithet, 
they held their peace; although Norman fancied that 
he saw more than one resentful glance shot in Skin- 
ner’s direction. 


68 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Where’s that cookee who was here last winter, 
boys?” inquired Mr. Collins, presently, when the 
progress of logging operations had, apparently, been 
discussed to a standstill. 

“ He ban here,” responded several of the men in 
chorus. 

“ Got that accordion ? ” 

“ Yass.” 

“ Well, just ask him to trot it in here, and give us 
a tune or two. Tell any of the boys outside, who’d 
like to hear him, to come along in.” 

“ We mak’ de wan beeg crowd,” returned one of the 
men, deprecatingly. 

“Not a bit of it,” protested the scaler, heartily. 
“ Plenty o’ room. Tell the boys to come right along 
— the more the merrier.” 

Several of the men left the camp, and presently 
returned, triumphantly escorting the cookee, a dark- 
eyed, rosy-cheeked young man, eighteen or nineteen 
years of age, and his accordion. Behind them crowded 
a number of woodsmen, smiling and expectant. The 
cookee was evidently the camp’s musician, and the 
members of the crew were obviously proud of his 
accomplishments. With rough but hearty deference, 
he was accorded the high, home-made stool before the 
desk, while the men filled the available seats, sat in 
rows upon the floor with backs against the wall, and 
overflowed into the bedroom, from the door of which 
a compact group gave rapt attention to the music. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 69 


Norman was astonished at the manner in which their 
entertainer managed his somewhat clumsy instrument, 
and the stirring strains he was able to draw from it. 
It was evident that he played entirely by ear, and yet 
with surprising skill and expression. “ Money Musk,” 
“ Fisher’s Hornpipe,” “ The Good Old Summer- 
time,” “ Hiawatha,” and various other lively airs — 
old and new — followed one another in rapid succes- 
sion. Unconsciously Norman was soon joining in the 
tap of moccasins upon the floor, as the men, in perfect 
time, beat out an accompaniment with their feet. 

“ These Frenchmen are full of music,” whispered 
Mr. Collins to Norman, as the cookee brought a selec- 
tion to a close. “ Just notice that fellow in the door- 
way.” 

The music started again, and Norman turned to look 
at a young man who stood near the front of the group 
in the doorway of the bedroom. He was tall and 
slight of build, and his rapt expression told how strong 
a spell the music had wrought upon him. Every 
muscle of his body seemed to respond to the stirring 
strains of the accordion. His shoulders rose and fell, 
first on one side and then the other, with a swaying 
motion, in perfect time, and in a very ecstasy of enjoy- 
ment. It was evident that the music exercised a strange 
but potent charm upon his spirit, and he gave himself 
up to its delights with utter abandon. 

“ He’s fairly strung on wires,” whispered Norman, 
as the cookee rested a moment from his labors. 


;o 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ He’s a jumper,” responded the scaler. 

Norman was about to ask an explanation of this 
term when the music started again. The cookee had 
played but a few strains, however, when Skinner, stand- 
ing in the rear of the group about the bedroom door, 
thrust forward a long arm and gave the rapt young 
Frenchman a resounding whack between the shoulder- 
blades. 

“ Hit him ! ” he hissed. 

With a yell of terror, his victim, acting promptly 
upon the suggestion, hit the man in front of him a 
blow that sent him reeling into the center of the room. 
It seemed to Norman as if the young music-lover had 
suddenly gone daft. The rapt expression had given 
place to a very frenzy of fear. 

“ Merci ! O mon Dieu ! Mon Dieu ! Oh-oo — oo- 
ah — oo — ” he shouted, in terrified accents, jumping 
frantically up and down in an apparent agony of appre- 
hension. His eyes stared wildly, the sweat started 
from his forehead, and he fell, moaning and groveling, 
to the floor. 

Norman leaped to his feet, his face pale with alarm. 
He felt certain that the young man who had attracted 
his attention by his intense enjoyment of the music 
had been carried away by his emotions and stricken 
with sudden insanity. Above the heads of the group 
at the bedroom door he caught a glimpse of Skinner’s 
sallow face, showing white and ghastly even through 
the stubble that covered it. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 71 

The music ceased abruptly. A moment’s ominous 
silence fell upon the group, followed by hoarse shouts, 
and angry curses. 

“ He jomp heem ! ” shouted the man who had been 
struck by Skinner’s victim, above the tumult. “ Sapre 
diable ! he t’ink he play heem wan smart treek for mak’ 
Odilon Leroux hit Peter Macou. He raise de row, 
monjee! we geeve heem de fit.” 

“No, no — de codfeesh!” yelled another. 

“ Yass, yass, de codfeesh, de codfeesh,” came in an 
approving chorus from a number of the men. 

There was a mad rush into the bedroom, where 
Skinner had leaped upon the bed, and was reaching 
for Hardy’s rifle which hung on wooden pegs at the 
head of it. Before he was able to possess himself of 
the weapon, however, strong hands were laid upon him 
and he was dragged ignominiously to the floor. 

“ Hands off, ye skunks ! Don’t ye dare tech me ! 
I’ll — I’ll hev the heart of the man that interferes with 
me ! ” he gasped, in a fury of rage, as he struggled 
frantically, but in vain, with the men who held him, 
none too tenderly, upon the floor. 

“ We’ll geeve for you wan nice beeg codfeesh rat 
away, prattee queek, mebbe,” declared Macou, grimly. 
“ Tak’ heem out, ma boys.” 

A moment later the struggling, shrieking, cursing 
Skinner was borne through the door in the determined 
grasp of a dozen brawny men. 

Norman was amazed to see the young fellow whose 


72 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


wild outburst had so astonished him, pick himself up 
from the floor, apparently no worse for his harrowing 
experience, and follow the procession. 

In front of the men’s camp lay a big dead cedar 
which had been hauled there to provide a supply of 
kindling-wood. Across this log the wildly writhing, 
protesting, blaspheming Skinner was stretched, strong 
men holding him down on either side by his arms and 
legs. 

From a near-by hovel Peter Macou made his appear- 
ance, brandishing a big salt codfish. 

“ You wan ver’, ver’, smart man, M’sieu Skinnaire,” 
he shouted, wrathfully. “ You lak to keek up de row 
— mak’ Frenchman jomp — hit oder fellaire. Ha! 
Ha! ba Joe! You jomp now you’se’f. I geeve you 
wan grande spanke ! ” 

A shriek of pain and fury came from the unhappy 
victim, as the codfish, swung by the tail high above 
Macou’s head, descended with a resounding whack 
upon the seat of Skinner’s trousers, but his frenzied 
anathemas were drowned in the hilarious laughter of 
the crew. 

“ I’ll have your heart — I’ll — I’ll kill you! ” 

“ Hooraw ! He show de fight. Geeve heem ’noder 
wan ! ” 

Whack. 

“ Oh-oo ! I’ll lay for you ! I’ll — I’ll do you ! ” 

“ Dat rat, Pete. Geeve heem good leeckin’ ! ” 

Whack. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


73 


“ Oh, let up! Let up! I tell you! I’ll — Oh, blast 
your harslet ! You’ll be sorry ! O-oo ! You’ll rue this ! ” 

Skinner’s voice rose in a weird crescendo of wild 
and incoherent blasphemy. 

“Larrup heem! Jomp her on, Pete! Mak’ heem 
more smart fellaire ! ” came in chorus from the 
delighted crew. 

“ Mebbe you don’ eat heem som’ bullfrog. Mebbe 
you don’ eat not’ing at all,” panted Pete, as he brought 
the codfish down again upon his squirming, howling 
victim. 

“You got plaintee ’nuf?” he asked, pausing from 
his labors. 

A muffled groan was the only response from the 
writhing Skinner. 

Pete surveyed him with freshly rising wrath. 

“ Blam’ you! I know w’at you t’ink. You t’ink: 
‘ Blam’ you, Pete Macou, I leeck you.’ Ba cripe ! I 
leeck you for dat ! ” and again the codfish descended 
upon the wretched Skinner. It was the last straw, 
and, unable to endure the punishment further, the 
victim capitulated and begged lustily for mercy, prom- 
ising better fashions. 

The men accepted this abject and humiliating sur- 
render, and escorted the reluctant Macou to the 
triumphant shelter of the men’s camp, while the dis- 
comfited and hysterical Skinner, breathing threats of 
vengeance, limped painfully back to the beaver house. 

“ You could have stopped ’em,” he complained to 


74 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


Mr. Collins, as he sank into a chair by the big stove. 
“Jest one word from you would ha — ” 

“ But I wouldn’t speak it,” interposed the scaler, 
sternly. “ You broke the rules of the camp, and did 
a cowardly act. You richly deserved all you got — 
and more. If you are afraid to go back with the men, 
you can take a couple of the extra blankets and camp 
here on the floor in this front room. Now shut up. 
I won’t make any more talk with you.” 

“ What is a jumper? ” asked Norman, who was still 
in the dark concerning the real reason for the astonish- 
ing fracas he had witnessed. 

“ He’s a man who is the victim of a nervous disease,” 
returned the scaler. “ The French people are naturally 
of a highly nervous temperament, and hence furnish 
many victims of this weakness, which, however, is by 
no means confined to that race. They are commonly 
called, however, ‘ Jumping Frenchmen.’ Slap them 
and shout at them when they are thinking of some- 
thing else, and they seem to lose all control of them- 
selves. At such times they act immediately upon any 
suggestion that is made to them — even to the extent 
of jumping into the river, as has happened more than 
once on the drives. The more such people are jumped, 
the worse they become. Harry McMurray has given 
out word that he would discharge any man caught 
practising such cruelties; as a result it isn’t very com- 
mon in his crews.” 

“ Then this man will have to go ? ” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 75 


“No. I doubt if the matter ever reaches McMur- 
ray’s ears. Talebearing is not countenanced among 
woodsmen.” 

“ Thet feller was havin’ sech an elegant dream, I 
jest couldn’t help a-wakin’ of him up,” groaned 
Skinner. 

“ Perhaps you’ll be a little more successful here- 
after in restraining your rollicking sense of humor,” 
responded the scaler, grimly. 

“ I didn’t mean no harm,” protested Skinner. 

“ It’s a mighty poor plan — especially for a mixed- 
blood Yankee — to criticise any man on account of 
his race. Human nature averages ’bout the same, 
whatever language it speaks. I guess we’d better turn 
in, being as we’ve got to get up pretty early in the 
morning.” 

Shortly after, wrapped in warm blankets, Norman 
was sleeping soundly upon a cot in the bedroom, the 
last spring bed he was destined to lie upon for many 
a day. 


CHAPTER VII 


IN THE HEART OF THE FOREST 

The sun had not yet risen above the tree-tops, when 
Norman and the scaler made their start for Quadrate 
Lake on Vede Pelotte’s tote-team. Early as they were, 
Dave Hardy was on hand to see them off. 

“ You must keep Mr. Collins out of mischief,” was 
his parting shot, as they started down the narrow 
wood-road that wound its way into the dark depths 
of the forest. 

“ They’re bound to keep me a boy,” laughed the 
scaler, “ and I’d just about as soon they would. I 
don’t feel any older than I did when I was a young- 
ster.” 

“ I hope I may be able to say as much when I am 
your age,” returned Norman. 

“ I think you will,” predicted the scaler, confidently. 

Norman, seated by his companion’s side on a bag 
of oats, drew the big fur robe, which Dave Hardy had 
insisted upon their taking, about him a little closer, and 
made no reply. The long framework which stretched 
between the two short sleds, and formed a deck for 
their load, bore a varied cargo — barrels of flour, pork, 
lard, beans, and frozen fresh codfish; several quarters 
76 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 77 


of beef; cases of canned stuff and general grocery 
supplies; the whole crowned with bags of oats, and 
securely bound in place with a labyrinth of rope. It 
was a heavy load, but the pair of chunky little blacks 
that hauled it bore it forward at a good pace over the 
smooth, hard road, taking advantage of every descend- 
ing piece of ground to break into a brisk trot. 

“ Seems to me they’ve given you a pretty good span, 
Vede,” remarked Mr. Collins to the driver. “ Toters 
usually get the poorest teams. The best ones are used 
hauling logs,” he explained to Norman. 

Pelotte slapped one of the horses with the rein, and 
did not reply at once. It was evident that he regarded 
the question as one that called for a certain amount of 
judicial consideration. 

“ Wall,” he said, reflectively, after a moment’s pause. 
“ Dey prattee fair hoss, I gass. Wan ban firs’ rat’ 
hoss — wort’ mebbe wan honder dollaire; but oder 
wan, ba golly! he mak’ me tire’. He not got som’ 
brain on her head. She ban sleepy on bot’ hees eye. 
She eat heem plaintee hay — ’mos’ four peck ev’ry day 
— jus’ sam’, so I gass we mus’ call heem a hoss.” 

“ A trifle mixed on genders,” whispered the scaler, 
noting the twinkle in Norman’s eye. “ Go ’long with 
you, Vede,” he added, in a louder tone. “ You know 
you’ve got the best tote-team in the bunch. You’re 
simply knocking them a little, so as to dicker around 
with the company and pick them up cheap in the 
spring.” 


78 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Mebbe I tak’ dem for gee f , eef de comp’ny t’row 
een barrel pork an’ bean,” returned Vede, deprecatingly. 

As they talked they emerged from the narrow wood- 
road into a broad turnpike. 

“ This is the old military road,” announced the 
scaler, “ the main traveled thoroughfare to Fort Kent.” 

The horses swung into a brisk trot down a long 
incline. From the foot of this they began the leisurely 
ascent of a steep hill. Pelotte, with the consideration 
for his horses characteristic of most teamsters in the 
big woods, jumped to the ground and walked beside 
his load. Norman and the scaler, glad of an oppor- 
tunity to stretch their cramped legs, promptly followed 
his example. 

“ Wait here a minute, Vede,” requested Mr. Collins, 
as the team came to a stop on the brow of the hill. 
“ We are on the height of land in this section,” he 
explained to Norman, “ and I want to give you a 
chance to enjoy the view.” 

Climbing back upon the load, and standing erect, 
Norman looked in fascinated wonder upon the vast, 
awe-inspiring panorama that was presented to his gaze. 
The great forest stretched away on every side into the 
apparently interminable distance, a rugged succession 
of ridges and hills, with intervening swamps and low- 
lands, all heavily wooded with evergreen growths, and 
looking in the perspective like a landscape clothed in 
dark-green verdure. Here and there, amid the dark 
mass of color, were open, snow-clad spaces, winding 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 79 


like narrow white ribbons through the forest, or widen- 
ing into broad, plain-like stretches, that marked the 
frozen surfaces of streams and lakes. 

“ Most of the country you can see from here is 
covered with what we call black growth — spruce, 
hemlock, fir, and cedar,” said the scaler. “ There are, 
to be sure, many hardwood ridges where the primeval 
birch, beech, and maples are still standing; but even 
these are so interspersed with the softwood growths, 
principally spruce and hemlock, that it is hard for one 
unfamiliar with the forests to distinguish them at a 
distance.” 

Norman drew a long breath. 

“ What a magnificent country ! ” he exclaimed, with 
enthusiasm. 

“ Nature seems to have specially fitted Maine for a 
timber growing State,” replied the scaler. “ Almost 
any part of it, no matter how long it has been cleared, 
will, in a short time, if left alone, come up again to 
forest growths. It has, too, in very generous meas- 
ure, the water storage essential to timber production, 
there being no less than 6,000 streams and 1,800 ponds 
and lakes within its borders.” 

“ Those woods look as if there were no end to them,” 
said Norman, in an awed tone. 

“ Well, you would have to follow them many miles 
over the Canadian line to find it,” returned the scaler, 
with a smile. “ Maine has an area of 33,040 square 
miles. This includes a wilderness area of 22,800 


8o ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


square miles — which is 6,000 square miles more 
than the combined areas of Massachusetts, Connecticut, 
Rhode Island, and Delaware. It also includes more 
than 3,000 square miles of lake, pond, and river sur- 
faces. The world has heard a great deal about the 
famous ‘ Black Forest * of Germany, and yet the wilder- 
ness of Maine covers an area more than seven times as 
large.” 

“ I never dreamed it could be so large,” declared 
Norman, as they resumed their journey. 

For a long time they rode in silence. At the foot 
of the further slope of the hill, from whose top Nor- 
man had enjoyed his view of the wild and rugged 
country, they turned from the main thoroughfare into 
a narrow, well-worn wood-road that wound a tortuous 
way through the silent and sombre forest. The one 
idea of its builders, apparently, had been the greatest 
possible avoidance of grades. The wisdom of this was 
apparent to Norman, when he reflected that the steep- 
est pitch on such a road would determine the hauling 
capacity of every team that passed over it. So close 
did the big spruces, firs, cedars, and hemlocks stand 
to the roadsides, that the whiffletrees behind the horses 
frequently scraped against their trunks in passing; and 
to such an extent did their big bough tops overlap the 
roadway high above them, that it seemed like a journey 
in a long, high tunnel, from which, through occasional 
breaks in the tall roof, one caught fitful glimpses of 
blue sky. The trees and bushes bore upon their 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 81 


branches masses of snow, which sifted down when 
anything disturbed them, and whose feathery crystals, 
catching an occasional vagrant sunbeam, glittered with 
prismatic colors, like the sparkle of innumerable dia- 
monds. 

The atmosphere was fragrant with woodsy odors — 
the pungent scents of the spruces, hemlocks, cedars, 
and firs. As Norman expanded his lungs with this 
crisp, balsam-laden air, he felt his pulses throb with 
a new life and energy. Already the subtle spirit of 
the great forest, with its solemn tenderness, its peren- 
nial fulness of life, and its ever-brooding mystery, was 
holding him in its magic spell. 

“ Mr. Collins/’ he said, presently, breaking a silence 
that was becoming almost oppressive, “ I’m ashamed 
of my ignorance. I don’t even know the names of 
these trees, outside of the pines.” 

“ Well, no one need ever know it, if you don’t tell 
them,” said the scaler, with a smile. “ Besides, it won’t 
take you long to learn. For instance,” he added, point- 
ing to a tall tree with dark foliage and rough bark, 
“ that is a red spruce. You should become familiar 
with this species first of all, for it will constitute the 
great bulk of the Lakeland Lumber Company’s cut this 
winter. They expect to get about thirty million.” 

“ Thirty million trees! ” exclaimed Norman, aghast. 

“ No — not exactly,” said the scaler, with a laugh. 
“ They will get trees enough to scale — that is, to 
measure — thirty million board feet.” 


82 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ And what is a board foot ? ” 

“ It is the contents of a board one foot square and 
one inch thick. This is the common unit of measure 
for logs and lumber in the United States.” 

“ I see,” said Norman; “ but how do you determine 
the number of board feet in a log ? ” 

“ By means of a log rule invented fifty years or more 
ago by a man named Holland, and in such general use 
in this State that it is commonly called the Maine rule. 
The computations on the basis of board feet are all 
worked out on this rule by taking the top diameter 
and the length of the log to be scaled. In making such 
computations a quarter of an inch has been figured on 
the scale rule between each prospective board embodied 
in the contents of a log, to allow for kerf, or cutting 
waste occasioned in sawing.” 

“ I should think, when you only took the top diam- 
eter of a log, and the bottom diameter was much larger, 
that there would be a considerable portion of it that 
wouldn’t get measured at all,” said Norman. 

“ That’s the chief objection that has been urged 
against the Maine rule,” said the scaler ; “ but the 
operators, who are also in most cases the mill-owners, 
say the hazards they run, the waste occasioned in 
driving, and the loss from defective logs, would fully 
offset any advantage they may secure from the seem- 
ingly liberal mode of measurement. In some States 
a caliper rule is used, and the diameter measured is 
taken midway of the log. Such a scale is manifestly 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 83 


less advantageous to the operator, and Maine land- 
owners have not exacted it.” 

“How long is this Maine scale rule?” asked Nor- 
man, laying his hand upon the square-cornered staff, 
thickly covered with figures, that lay across the seat 
beside the scaler. 

“ Four feet.” 

“ What is the longest log that would be figured on 
it in board feet ? ” 

“ Thirty feet. Anything beyond that must be scaled 
or measured as two logs. The caliper rule, various 
styles of which are in use in many of our States, and 
very generally in Europe, gives the contents of a log 
in cubic feet. There does not appear to be any imme- 
diate prospect, however, of this system coming into 
very general use in Maine.” 

“ You speak of land-owners, operators, and mill- 
owners,” said Norman. “ I thought they were all the 
same.” 

“ They are in many instances. Quite a portion of 
the wild lands of the State are owned and operated by 
the proprietors of sawmills. Great stretches of wild 
land are also owned and operated by the big pulp-mill 
companies. The spruce, poplar, and fir on such tracts 
are, of course, devoted to paper-making, and are thus 
practically withdrawn from the State's timber supply 
available for the manufacture of lumber. A very large 
part of the Maine wilderness, however, is the property 
of individuals who are not engaged either in the manu- 


84 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


facture of pulp or lumber. They are called timber- 
land or wild-land owners, and they get their returns 
from the sale of stumpage. ,, 

“And what is stumpage?” asked Norman. “I’m 
afraid you’ll think me awfully green,” he added, apolo- 
getically. 

“ Not at all,” protested the scaler. “ Stumpage 
means the value of timber in its natural state, or as it 
stands in the woods. The land-owner sells this stand- 
ing timber, or stumpage, to the operator, who goes into 
the woods with men and supplies and cuts it. Such 
operator may be a mill-owner securing logs for his own 
saws, or he may be a mere middleman buying his 
stumpage of the land-owners and selling his logs to 
the mill-owners.” 

“ About how many spruce logs, for instance, would 
it ordinarily take to scale a thousand board feet ? ” 
inquired Norman. 

“ That depends of course upon the size of the growth. 
In the old days an operator wouldn’t think of cutting 
spruce that wouldn’t scale a thousand to every six logs. 
Now, he thinks he is doing very well if he gets logs 
that will scale a thousand feet to the dozen. They take 
’most everything nowadays, down to a pickpole.” 

“ You’ve probably, in your long experience, seen as 
much of the Maine woods, Mr. Collins, as any living 
man,” said Norman. 

“ Well, I’ve tramped them fairly thoroughly, first 
and last,” admitted the scaler. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 85 


“ How big should you say from your experience 
that spruce ever grow ? ” 

“ Well, the largest one I ever saw was eighty-seven 
feet long, and fourteen inches through at the top. It 
scaled eighteen hundred feet.” 

“ It must have been a monster.” 

“ It was a very giant among the giants. I have 
heard of taller spruces; but I doubt if any of them 
would have scaled as much. The biggest spruces cut 
by the Lakeland Lumber Company last winter were 
about seventy-five feet long and six inches in diameter 
at the top. There were not very many of them, how- 
ever.” 

“ I think I ought to know a red spruce now when I 
see it,” declared Norman, confidently. 

“ Suppose you point one out,” suggested the scaler. 

“ Well, that big one right ahead there.” 

“ Ah,” laughed the scaler, “ but that is a fir-tree.” 

“ They look just the same,” insisted Norman. 

“ They have merely a superficial resemblance,” 
explained the scaler. “If you will examine this tree 
more closely you will notice that its bark is smoother 
and of lighter color than that of the spruce, that its 
limbs are more symmetrical and extend much further 
down the trunk, and, finally, that the foliage is of a 
slightly brighter shade of green.” 

“ Are they used much for lumber ? ” 

“ They were not formerly ; but now ’most all oper- 
ators take them when they are of fair size. They 


86 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


make very good boards ; but are scarcely tough enough 
for dimension-stuff — that is, for beams, floor-timbers, 
and joist,” added the scaler, noting the look of inquiry 
on Norman’s face. “ I’ve seen carloads of boards 
shipped out of this county where fully one-third were 
fir. I doubt, though, if the people to whom they were 
consigned ever noticed the difference.” 

“ How large do they grow? ” 

“ Well, that’s hard telling. Some of them are quite 
sizable trees. The biggest fir I ever saw in Maine 
scaled three hundred feet.” 

As they talked they emerged from the black growth 
into a wide stretch of more open territory, upgrown 
with clumps of grey birch, and many poplars. In the 
midst of these trees were thousands of young spruce, 
while here and there a big pine towered in silent 
majesty far above the trees of lesser growth. 

“ This is an old burn,” explained the scaler. “ Fire 
ran through here more than fifty years ago, and took 
everything clean except those scattering pines, which 
are able to stand a degree of heat that would kill any of 
the other trees that grow in our Maine forests. Now 
I want you to notice the wise process by which Nature 
repaired damages, and planted this tract again to spruce 
growth. Coniferous trees would not seed in the hot, 
ash-covered soil. It immediataely came up, however, 
to grey birch and poplar, both of which are rapid- 
growing, short-lived trees. In a few years these had 
shaded the ground to such an extent that it was able 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 87 


to hold a considerable amount of moisture; then amid 
the birch and poplar thousands of little spruces sprang 
into life. I11 time, when the birch and poplar are gone, 
they will hold undisputed sway, and this tract will 
again be covered with a dense spruce growth. Lum- 
bermen will come here again for sawlogs; but not in 
my lifetime or yours.” 

“ Do spruce-trees grow as slowly as that? ” inquired 
Norman. 

“ The rate of growth on a spruce-tree varies some- 
what with its access to light, the fertility of the soil in 
which it is rooted, and the size it has attained. As the 
new layers of wood-fibre are deposited annually in con- 
centric rings around the trunk, it is evident that the 
greater the diameter the greater will be the amount of 
growth. It is estimated by good authorities that where 
it is grown under average forest conditions, a spruce- 
tree six inches in diameter at breast-height is from 
sixty to eighty years old. Of course spruce of that 
size may be grown on old fields or burns in consider- 
ably less time. The usual life-period of a spruce-tree 
is thought to be about three hundred years.” 

“ I’d no idea they could be so venerable/’ confessed 
Norman. 

“ It is a little impressive to reflect that many of these 
big spruces about us stood here when this country was 
under British rule, and when nobody save Indians, 
with now and then, perhaps, a wandering Jesuit mis- 
sionary, traversed these wilds. I’ve often wondered 


88 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


what stories they might tell us, if they could only 
speak.” 

“ I imagine they would be tales of animal life, and 
love, and tragedy, rather than those of human experi- 
ence,” suggested Norman. 

“ Very likely,” conceded the scaler, “ but it would 
have the interest of truth and the value of accuracy; 
which is not always the case, I imagine, with many of 
such stories told by so-called Nature- writers, and which 
are based in small part upon observation, and in large 
part upon supposition.” 

“ You don’t take much stock in such stories, then? ” 
questioned Norman. 

“ Well, I’ve probably seen about as much of the 
game of this section as any man, but I never felt equal 
to the task of writing the life of any wild animal,” 
said the scaler, dryly. “ Camp 2,” he added, laconi- 
cally, as they passed a group of log buildings that 
stood by the roadside in a little clearing in the woods. 
“ We’ll take dinner at Camp 3 about six miles fur- 
ther on.” 


CHAPTER VIII 


SOME REMINISCENCES OF COLONEL GERRISH 

For a few miles they rode along in silence. Mr. 
Collins was apparently absorbed in his own reflections, 
while Norman was busily turning over in his own 
mind the new and interesting information that had been 
given him. “ One thing is sure,” he reflected, with 
satisfaction, as he studied the forest growths on either 
side of the road, “ they’ll never catch me again on a 
spruce or fir-tree.” 

A new impression grew upon him as occasional 
roads, to the right and left, many of them unused, 
opened up to his observation new vistas of forest. 

“ There doesn’t seem to be any death here in the 
woods,” he said, presently, rousing himself from his 
abstraction. 

“ Every perishing thing in a forest becomes a con- 
tributor to its life,” said the scaler. 

“ ‘Life evermore is fed by death 
In earth and sea and sky; 

And, that a rose may breathe its breath, 

Something must die.' ” 

he quoted. 

“ I see you are a lover of Dr. Holland,” said Nor- 
man, with a smile. 


89 


9 o ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Yes,” admitted Mr. Collins, “ I have found much 
to admire in him. Speaking of death in the forest, 
however, you must remember that most of the processes 
of decay are hidden under the deep snow at this season 
of the year.” 

“ You have spoken of red spruce,” said Norman. 
“ Are there other kinds ? ” 

“Yes, black spruce and white spruce. There are 
other names, but they really refer to conditions of 
growth, and not to difference in species.” 

“ They must be very hardy trees,” suggested Nor- 
man. 

“ They are,” assented the scaler. “ In fact, they 
seem to flourish under the roughest and seemingly the 
most adverse conditions to be found in our Maine 
woods. The coldest slopes, the highest elevations, and 
the rockiest and shallowest soils apparently have no 
terrors for them. They are wonderfully hardy and 
tenacious of life, and have the vitality to hold their 
own under nearly all circumstances.” 

“ And have they no enemies ? ” 

“ Yes, a host of them. ’Most everything in nature 
has something to prey upon it — and various parasites, 
moths, hoppers, flies, and worms give their special, if 
not undivided, attention to our spruce-trees. There 
are, for instance, the cone-worm, the bud-worm, the 
leaf-hopper, the plume-moth, the bud-louse, and the 
timber-beetle — and probably others that I haven’t had 
time to get acquainted with.” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


91 


“ I think that list will do,” declared Norman, laugh- 
ingly. “ I only wonder that we have any spruce-trees 
left.” 

“ There is a monument to one of the worst insect 
pests ever known in our Maine woods,” said the scaler, 
pointing to a tall dead tree that towered above some 
trees of smaller growth a short distance from the road. 
“ We shall see many more of the same kind before we 
reach Quadrate Lake.” 

“ What kind of a tree is it?” asked Norman, with 
interest. 

“ It’s a hackmatack — or, as the Maine lumbermen 
call it, a ‘ hack/ These trees have a bend at the root, 
which, when dug out, enables operators to secure from 
them the ‘ knees * or right-angle braces so much used 
in shipbuilding. The same timber, being light and 
strong, is also largely used in shipyards for top frames. 
The securing of hack was once an important industry 
in Maine; but in the eighties nearly all the hackmatack 
in the Eastern States, and in Canada, was killed by a 
caterpillar that ate off the leaves for several seasons 
in succession. Practically all the grown hackmatack 
in the whole region was killed. The shipbuilders in 
Maine are now obliged to secure the greater part of 
what they use in the Lake States — chiefly from Michi- 
gan. It was a big, sweeping insect invasion. A friend 
of mine who visited Labrador in 1891 told me not long 
ago that he found this work of destruction still going 
on there.” 


92 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ It was fortunate those caterpillars didn’t trouble 
the spruce,” said Norman. 

“ Very,” agreed the scaler, “ but, as it was, they 
cost the State a great many thousand dollars.” 

A moment later they came out into a small clearing 
in the woods, in which were grouped the collection of 
log houses and horse hovels that constituted Camp 3. 

As they drew up in front of the main camp, a bright- 
faced young man, wearing a mackinaw and soft slouch 
hat, somewhat the worse for wear, came out of the 
beaver house and greeted the scaler very cordially. 

“ We’ve been looking for you for the past week,” 
he said. “ We began to fear you’d deserted us.” , 

“ Oh, you can’t get rid of me so easily,” rejoined 
the scaler, with a smile. “ A bad penny, you know, 
always returns. Mr. Burton, shake hands with Mr. 
Carver. Mr. Burton is the boss of Camp 3 — the 
youngest and one of the best in the employ of our 
company,” he added. 

“ You must make some allowance for Mr. Collins,” 
said Burton, giving Norman’s hand a hearty shake. 
“ He’s so much of a boy himself that he takes special 
delight in boosting us young fellows, whether we 
deserve it or not.” 

“ Well, I’m certainly not telling any lies in your 
case, Ned,” insisted the scaler, good-naturedly. 

“ I hope I won’t prove you a false prophet,” said 
Burton. “ Go right into the beaver house and thaw 
out. Put your horses in the right-hand hovel, Vede. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 93 


I expect they’ll pull a little better if they get something 
to eat, won’t they ? ” 

“l gass wan bushel hay an’ forkful oat put leetle 
geengar on dem,” admitted the teamster. 

“ Sure, Mike ! ” assented Burton. “ I’ll speak to the 
cook and see you later,” he added, as he hurried away 
to the cook’s camp. 

A little later Norman, in company with the scaler, 
Pelotte, and Burton, was washing down a hearty dinner 
of fried ham, boiled potatoes, hot biscuits, and mince 
pie, with a generous supply of steaming-hot tea, which 
he drank from a tin dipper. 

“ Well, where are you working now, Ned?” asked 
the scaler, as he helped himself to a second supply of 
ham and potato. 

“ You remember that low ridge where Bill Jason 
logged in ’85 ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, we’re working along the south side of that 
at present.” 

“ Mighty hard chance to get logs, isn’t it?” 

“ About the worst I ever tackled. Have to buckle 
right down and jump to it. Reg’lar hog-wrestle all 
the time.” 

“ Running small ? ” 

“ Taking ’most everything, down to a pickpole. The 
company has been to considerable expense in building 
roads for this camp, and my orders are to take ’em 
pretty clean.” 


94 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ How many turns can you make a day from your 
yards to the landing ? ” 

“ About three.” 

“ Well, you ought to get a good cut.” 

“ I guess we’ll be with ’em on the home stretch,” 
declared Burton, with an accent of pride. “ I’ve got 
a mighty good crew this winter. Only two or three 
poor ones in the bunch.” 

“ You’re lucky,” said the scaler. “ Still, I’ve noticed 
one thing — if there are any good men to be had, 
Harry McMurray usually gets them.” 

“ They can’t beat him,” declared Burton. “ He went 
to Bolton Monday, and I calculate he stopped over with 
Jim Cookson at the Beetle Brook camp last night.” 

“ Mr. Carver is going to clerk for Billy Eustace,” 
announced the scaler. 

“ I reckon he’ll be glad to see him,” rejoined Burton. 
“ He’s been tied altogether too closely to the camp this 
winter. Had to do ’most everything from filing saws 
to keeping the books and tending wangan.” 

“ I don’t see how he’s managed it,” declared Mr. 
Collins. 

“ He never could, if he’d had as much cruising to 
do as I’ve had,” returned Burton. 

“ I don’t believe I can help him out much on the 
saws,” said Norman, as he followed Burton back into 
the beaver house. 

“ I don’t know about that,” replied Burton, with a 
smile. “ You’ll learn a heap from Billy.” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 95 


Norman glanced keenly at the speaker, to determine 
if any hidden meaning lurked behind those words, but 
promptly acquitted Burton of any such subtle purpose. 

Shortly after, the horses were again harnessed to 
the tote-sled, and they were once more on their way to 
Quadrate Lake. 

Their road followed the winding valley of a big 
brook, which Mr. Collins stated was a tributary of 
Quadrate Lake, and would be used by the company in 
the spring to drive the logs from Camps 2 and 3 into 
its waters. 

“ It is called Gerrish Brook,” explained the scaler, 
“ in honor of Colonel Jim Gerrish — commonly known 
as ‘ Long Jim/ who cut big old-growth pine in this 
section back in the early fifties. By the way, there’s 
one of them now,” he added, as a swing round a curve 
in the road brought into view a mighty pine, whose 
straight trunk towered so high above the other trees 
of the forest, that the biggest of them were dwarfed 
in comparison. 

“ Old original growth,” explained the scaler, briefly. 

“ A Gulliver among the Lilliputs!” exclaimed Nor- 
man, lost in admiration of the giant tree, whose tall top 
spread its scraggly branches full one hundred and fifty 
feet above the ground. 

“ Those kind of trees were all the lumbermen took 
in Colonel Gerrish’s day,” said Mr. Collins. “ You’ll 
see lots of the old pine stumps slowly rotting in this 
section, that will measure four and five feet in diameter. 


96 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


They used to fell these mighty pines onto the largest 
trees about them to ease their fall. They were mon- 
archs. I tell you when those big fellows came down 
they cut a mighty swath. You can stand by ’most any 
of these old pine stumps to-day and tell just where they 
fell by the line of smaller growth where the older trees 
were crushed and killed when the great pines came 
smashing and roaring down with a force that swept 
everything before them and fairly shook the earth.” 

“Why didn’t the lumbermen take that one?” asked 
Norman, his eyes still viewing with fascinated wonder 
the majestic and graceful lines of the great tree. 

“ It was conky. See those brown circular patches 
on the side of its trunk ? ” 

“ Yes. They look like knots.” 

“ They’re not, though. They’re conks — pine can- 
cers — and from them a red rot extends into the heart 
of the tree, making it practically useless for timber 
purposes. Whenever you find a big pine like that in 
the Maine woods to-day, it’s pretty safe to assume that 
it’s not sound, otherwise it would have been cut long 
ago.” 

“ It must have been dangerous getting them/’ sug- 
gested Norman. 

“ All lumber operations are attended with more or 
less danger,” replied the scaler. “ Civilization in its 
building operations makes heavy drafts upon the wil- 
derness, and they are grudgingly paid through human 
toil. Sometimes, however, the forest makes quick and 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 97 

terrible reprisals upon the unfortunate men within its 
reach.” 

“ Fm glad some of these old-growth pines are still 
left, even if they are conky,” said Norman. “ I could 
never have imagined how they looked if I hadn’t seen 
one with my own eyes.” 

“ It’s no wonder old Colonel Gerrish turned up his 
nose at spruce,” said the scaler. “ It was scarcely 
looked upon as a timber-tree in those days by men of 
his stamp.” 

“ What sort of man was he ? ” 

“A character; energetic, impulsive, pugnacious, and 
generous — a born leader of men. They still tell a 
good many stories about him in this section. Among 
the men who worked for him one winter was an Irish- 
man named Pat Cardigan, a fellow of quick wit and 
somewhat stubborn nature. Some difference arose 
between him and Colonel Gerrish over a question of 
pay ; and as the Colonel was accustomed to settle 
such matters by hob-nail methods, Pat decided to take 
French leave. He wisely chose for his departure a 
day when the Colonel was absent from camp. Before 
going, however, he sought to square his claim by going 
to the wangan and helping himself to a new pair of 
the long-legged cowhide boots much worn in those 
days. Arrayed in these, he started down the tote-road 
in the direction of home. He hadn’t gone far, how- 
ever, before, rounding a curve in the road, he came 
face to face with Colonel Gerrish. One glance revealed 


98 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


to ‘ Long Jim ’ the true situation, and without a word 
he pounced upon Pat, like a cat on a mouse, and threw 
him upon his back in the snow. Then jumping astride 
one of the new boots, he started to pull it from the 
foot of the prostrate Cardigan. At this point Pat 
found his voice. ‘ Bedad,’ said he, ‘ ’most iv’rything 
comes to a mon thot waits; but begorra it’s not the 
loikes o’ me thot iver expicted to have Colonel Jim 
Girrish fur a boot-jack!’ 

“ The humor of the situation appealed to the Colonel. 
‘ Pat,’ he gasped, dropping the boot, ‘ start your boots 
down the road, and don’t you ever let anyone know 
you met me.’ 

“ Pat lost no time in acting upon the suggestion, and 
the Colonel continued on his way to camp, shaking 
with laughter. He considered the story too good to 
keep, however, and seemed to take a good deal of 
satisfaction in telling it at his own expense.” 

The scaler paused and smiled reflectively. “ I was 
swamping for 4 Long Jim,’ as Colonel Gerrish was 
called, one winter,” he said, “ when he showed up at 
the camp with a black eye and a badly barked face. 

“ ‘Had an accident ? ’ asked the boss. 

“‘No,’ said he; ‘had a little argument with black 
Steve Oliver down to his blacksmith shop. Called 
him a liar. Steve swore he’d sweep up the shop with 
me — and by ginger ! he did ! ’ ” 

“ The Colonel must have been a scrapper,” com- 
mented Norman. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


99 


“ He was that, all right,” conceded the scaler, “ and 
as full of tricks and capers as an egg is of meat. 
He’d do the most unheard-of things — whatever hap- 
pened to come into his head. He was in to Billy 
Booker’s grocery-store down to Fort Kent one day, 
just as they knocked the head out of a hogshead of 
molasses. Billy’s daughter, a girl of sixteen or so, 
was standing by in all the glory of a new calico dress. 
Suddenly ‘ Long Jim ’ caught her under the arms, and, 
lifting her from the floor, stood her down kerswash 
into that hogshead of molasses! Mebbe Billy wasn’t 
mad! It cost the Colonel more than a hundred dol- 
lars to fix matters up — but he paid it without a whim- 
per. He probably wouldn’t have gotten off so easily 
if he hadn’t been one of Billy’s best customers.” 

“ I think I should have liked to have known Colonel 
Gerrish,” said Norman. 

“ You’d have found him good company,” declared 
the scaler, “ especially if he had taken a liking to you. 
He was generous to a fault. One day his wife was 
at the wash-tub in an old calico dress, when the Colonel 
drove up in front of the open shed, where she was 
working, with a spirited new horse he had just bought, 
and which he had hitched into an open banner wagon. 
‘ Come, Nancy,’ he called, ‘ I want you to try my new 
horse.’ 

“ ‘ Some other time,’ she said ; ‘ I’m not fit to be seen.’ 

“‘Jump right in,’ he insisted; ‘a little spin’ll do 
you good.’ 


100 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Upon that she left her work, somewhat reluctantly, 
and got into the wagon with him. What do you sup- 
pose that rascal did ? ” 

“ I haven’t the slightest idea.” 

“ He put for Bangor just as fast as he could go. 
His wife begged and pleaded in vain. He pushed 
right through the whole fifty miles and brought up at 
the Bangor House. His wife felt awfully chagrined 
and humiliated; but the Colonel squared it with her 
by buying the finest outfit they could find in the city.” 

“ I shouldn’t suppose that even that would have 
reconciled her,” said Norman. 

“ Women are very forgiving — under such circum- 
stances,” declared the scaler. “ Of course,” he con- 
tinued, “ the Colonel was obliged at times to carry a 
good deal of money with him. Wages were paid in 
cash in those days instead of the time-bills that pass 
current all through the timber sections in these days. 
One day he was driving into one of his camps with a 
big wad of bills in his pocket, to be used in paying off 
his crew, when he overtook a rough-appearing fellow 
walking along the tote-road, and invited him to ride 
with him. No sooner was the man in the pung with 
him than the Colonel began to regret the hospitality 
he had shown him. He was a hard-looking ticket, 
with a villainous countenance ; and the more ‘ Long 
Jim ’ looked him over the more unfavorable became 
his impression of him. Acting upon a sudden inspira- 
tion, he slyly dropped his whip into the tote-road. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


IOI 


Driving on a short distance, he pretended to discover 
its loss, and, hauling up, asked his companion to walk 
back and get it for him. The man promptly complied 
with the request; but, just as he reached the whip, the 
Colonel lashed his horse into a gallop with the ends 
of the reins, and left him standing there — about as 
astonished a man, I imagine, as there ever was in that 
township.” 

Norman was about to comment upon the Colonel’s 
strategy, when, pitching down a sharp hill, they 
emerged upon what appeared to be a big snow-covered 
plain surrounded by an unbroken forest of black 
growth. 

“ Quadrate Lake,” announced the scaler. 

“ I’d no idea it was so large,” said Norman. 

“ It’s twelve miles long by four miles wide in the 
center. Camp 4 is on the opposite side of this bay, 
about a mile and a half from here. The clearing is 
in that black growth, about three hundred feet from 
the shore.” 

The horses, conscious of the nearness of rest and 
shelter, broke into a brisk trot. A wind, cold and 
penetrating, swept boisterously up the long surface of 
the lake, and blew gusts of snow in their faces. 

“Gets in on the marrow a little,” said Norman, with 
chattering teeth. 

“ Yes,” admitted the scaler, “ and let me warn you 
right now never to try to cross this lake in its widest 
part, even if the day seems warm. I came across this 


io2 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


bay one night last winter when it seemed to me at 
times as if I should never reach camp. I was fre- 
quently obliged to stop and turn my back to the wind 
in order to catch my breath. I’m a pretty tough man, 
and have had considerable experience in the Maine 
woods, but I made up my mind right then and there 
that it was the last time I should ever try to cross any 
part of Quadrate Lake alone, and at night.” 

The sun was already dipping into the west, and the 
tall trees were beginning to cast their first faint shad- 
ows on the lake’s surface, when Vede Pelotte drove 
his horses along a tree-fringed road up a gentle incline, 
and brought them to a standstill in the little clearing 
whose log huts and hovels made up the woods com- 
munity known on the books of the Lakeland Lumber 
Company as Camp 4. 


CHAPTER IX 


NORMAN MAKES A NEW FRIEND 

“ Take your dunnage right into the beaver house/’ 
said Mr. Collins, as Norman alighted from the tote- 
team and stretched his cramped limbs. The scaler 
pointed to the small log camp in front of which Vede 
Pelotte had stopped his horses. Norman promptly 
swung open the cleated board door, and carried the 
articles which constituted his “ dunnage ” within. It 
was a structure very similar to the beaver house in 
which he and the scaler had passed the night at Game- 
wood siding — save that it had but one room. In the 
end opposite the door was a good sized window, con- 
sisting of a single sash glazed with 9x13 panes. There 
was a similar window on the side of the camp to the 
right of the door, in front of which was a rough board 
table, holding a wide, wooden- jawed vise, which was 
evidently employed in filing the long saws used in 
cutting down trees. It was very apparent to Norman 
that these windows, which supplied the camp with a 
limited quantity of sunlight, had no part in its venti- 
lation. This was left entirely to the doorway, the 
stove, and the small spaces between the logs where 
kindly winds had worn away the moss chinking. 

103 


io 4 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Looks a trifle stuffy, eh ? ” questioned the scaler, 
who had followed him into the camp in season to read 
his thought. “ So it is, by spells,” he added, in 
response to Norman’s nod. “ Still, you must always 
remember that logging-camps, under the most favor- 
able conditions, are usually full of draughts. If they 
were not, the men who live in them would be in serious 
danger of stifling.” 

“ While as it is they seem to have wonderfully good 
health and remarkable appetites,” said Norman, with 
a smile. “ I’ve already seen enough to be quite willing 
to take my chances.” 

“ Well, there’s some cedar kindling and birch-bark 
for you to start a fire with,” said the scaler, pointing 
to the wood piled up beside the big Franklin stove that 
occupied the center of the room. “ There’s nearly an 
hour of daylight left,” he continued, “ and I think I’ll 
improve it in taking a look at the landing near the 
camp. I noticed as I came along that they’d been 
hauling a few logs to it. If it were not for that, I’d 
start things going here.” 

“ Please don’t do anything for me that I can do for 
myself,” protested Norman. “ I want to be just as 
independent as I can.” 

“ It won’t take you long to learn the ropes,” declared 
the scaler, with conviction, as he passed out of the 
camp. 

Left alone, Norman resumed his inventory of the 
room. The window in the end wall was located exactly 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 105 


in its center. Before it, was a large rough shelf made 
of box-boards, which, judging from the books and 
papers upon it, evidently served as the office-desk. 
From the under part of this shelf, suspended upon 
cleats, was a drawer made out of a tobacco-box the 
front of which still bore the inscription “ Spearhead.” 
A high log seat, similar to the one Norman had seen 
in the beaver house at Gamewood siding, stood before 
this “ desk.” On either side of the camp were located 
two rough bunks, one above the other, each of which 
was evidently capable of accommodating two men. 

The walls of the camp, coming together in the cor- 
ners, formed an end and side of each of these bunks, 
while boards eight inches wide, running at right angles 
and securely nailed to a vertical spruce pole, consti- 
tuted the side and end projecting into the room. The 
floor served for the bottoms of the lower bunks, while 
the bottoms of the upper ones consisted of small poles 
placed side by side. In fact, the bunks were nothing 
more nor less than shallow boxes, placed one above 
the other, and filled with fir boughs over which were 
spread the coarse, heavy blankets that constituted the 
sole coverings. Altogether, they did not appeal to 
Norman as either clean or inviting. He had yet to 
learn the attractions of a bough bed for a wearied 
body. 

At the foot of the bunks on one side of the camp 
were two immense boxes fitted with right-angle iron 
straps fastened to the top of the cover, and padlocked 


io6 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


to a staple on the front. To the right of the door was 
a rude sink, hollowed out of a spruce log, in which 
was a tin wash-basin. Above this sink hung a small 
cracked mirror, while at one end of it was a shelf 
upon which sat a wooden water-pail, and a partially 
used cake of ordinary laundry soap. A tin dipper, 
which hung upon a nail over the water-pail, was evi- 
dently the camp ladle and drinking-cup. 

To the left of the door was a corner filled with a 
miscellaneous collection of chains, axes, snow-shoes, 
whiffletrees, horse-collars, several partially filled kegs 
of nails, a handsaw, a hammer, and half a dozen 
canvas extension-cases, which, doubtless, held the per- 
sonal effects of the occupants. Several rifles and shot- 
guns hung from wooden hooks nailed to the logs just 
below the eaves. Scattered about the room were also 
half a dozen rude chairs which were obviously of camp 
make. 

Having finished his inspection- of the beaver house, 
Norman was about to go out when the door swung 
open to admit a tall, straight young man, who carried 
in his arms some fire-kindlings. The newcomer was 
clad in the leggings, moccasins, and heavy sweater 
which were beginning to grow familiar to Norman. 
He was apparently about seventeen years of age, 
straight and wiry of build, with clear-cut features, 
dark hair, and bright blue eyes that carried the effect 
of a smile and radiated an atmosphere of good-fellow- 
ship. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 107 


Norman was instantly attracted to him. 

“ Hello ! ” he said, cordially. 

“ Hello ! ” responded the newcomer, in a friendly 
tone. “ Didn’t know you were here, or I’d had this 
fire going before. Vede put up his horses, you know, 
before he came into the camp. My name is Fred 
Warner. I’m the cookee,” he added, kneeling before 
the big stove and throwing open the door. 

Norman looked at him closely, in some doubt as to 
how far it might be safe to trust him with his confi- 
dences. His observation only strengthened the favor- 
able impression he had first formed of his new acquaint- 
ance. 

“ I’m awfully green,” he confessed, frankly. “ This 
is the first time I was ever in the big woods, and I’ve 
everything to learn. My name is Norman Carver, and 
I want you to help me, Fred.” 

“ I’ll do all I can for you,” responded Warner, who, 
having lighted the fire, had closed the stove door and 
risen to his feet. “ I guess, though, that you can teach 
me a heap more things than I can you. You see, I 
never had much schoolin’,” he added, apologetically. 

“ I hope I may be able to help you a little somewhere, 
for I feel that you and I are going to be good friends,” 
said Norman, warmly, holding out his hand. 

“ I reckon we are, too,” agreed Fred, as he took the 
proffered hand in a hearty clasp. 

“ Now,” said Norman, “ I want you to tell me just 
what a cookee does in a logging-camp.” 


io8 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


This request was evidently a surprise to Fred War- 
ner, who gave Norman a quick, searching glance to 
assure himself that he was not being quizzed. 

“ It would be easier, I guess, to tell you what he 
doesn’t do in this camp,” he answered, with a smile, 
satisfied of Norman’s sincerity. “ I build the fires, 
wait upon the table, pour the tea, wash the dishes, lug 
the water, cut and lug the wood for all the fires, and 
call the men in the morning. When the crews are 
working near the camp I haul their lunches to them 
on a hand-sled at noon. There’s only one crew that 
I do that for now. They are working, at the present 
time, on a ridge about a mile back from here. Before 
they started in there they were working only half a 
mile from camp, and hot yarding to the landing down 
on the lake-shore.” 

Norman looked at him in some bewilderment. “ Go 
slowly, Fred,” he protested. “ One thing at a time, 
please. Now, first of all, what do you mean by yard- 
ing logs ? ” 

“ Why, that’s dragging them from the places where 
the trees are cut, and making them into near-by piles 
beside a logging-road. You see, crews go into the 
woods to cut and yard, or pile up, logs months before 
the snow comes. Sometimes they go in as early as 
August. It is very necessary for them to pile up the 
logs, or, otherwise, they would be covered up later on, 
and lost in the deep snows, to say nothing of the 
inconvenience in hauling. The yards are made near 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 109 


where the trees are cut, and the logs are dragged or 
twitched to them with horses. It is of course neces- 
sary to have a depth of snow sufficient to make good 
roads in order to move logs any great distance in the 
woods. The snows have been lighter than usual here 
this winter, so that we have been able to yard much 
longer than is generally the case. Last winter they 
had more than seven feet on the level.” 

“ I fancy it would bother them some to dig logs out 
of that,” commented Norman. 

“ Never’d get ’em in the world if they were not 
collected together and piled up on the yards,” declared 
Fred. 

“ I think I understand what you mean by ‘ yard- 
ing,’ ” said Norman. “ Now what do you mean by 
‘ hot yarding ’ ? ” 

“ That is where one team drags logs to a yard and 
another hauls them directly to the landing. I have 
seen them rolling logs onto a side-hill yard from above, 
and loading them from below at the same time.” 

“ Where logs are moved immediately to the landing, 
as you call it, that, I take it, is hot yarding.” 

“ Not always. It would only be so when two differ- 
ent teams work on them. Sometimes, though, the 
trees are close enough at hand so the same team moves 
them from the stump to the landing. They call that 
‘ dragging in.’ ” 

“ And the landing?” 

“ Oh, that’s the place where they are piled up on the 


no ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


shore of the lake or stream on which they are to be 
floated or driven to the mills when the ice goes out in 
the spring. We have two landings at this camp, both 
of them, of course, on the lake-shore.” 

“ You spoke of crews,” said Norman. “ I thought 
a crew was all the men at work in one camp.” 

“ That’s so — in a way ; but I meant yarding-crews,” 
replied Fred. “ For instance, there are now forty-six 
men in this crew. The boss, the clerk, the cook, the 
cookee, the toter, two men on each landing, thirty-seven 
men who are divided into five yarding-crews of seven 
men each, and two teamsters who are hauling to the 
landings. In each one of the yarding-crews, there are 
two sawyers, a sled-tender, two swampers — men who 
cut out the road — a teamster, and a yard-tender. 
Each one of these crews cuts and yards its own logs. 
It is one of these crews that I have to take the luncheon 
to at noon. I haul it out on a jumper.” 

“ A jumper? ” 

“Yes — a skeleton hand-sled of camp manufacture.” 

“ The swampers, you say, cut out the roads, and I 
think I might guess what the teamster does,” said 
Norman; “but I should be somewhat in doubt about 
the others.” 

“ Well, the sawyers undercut the tree and saw it 
down.” 

“What does it mean to undercut?” 

“ That is a notch they cut in the tree near the bottom 
before they begin to saw it down. It is this notch, or 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


hi 


undercut, that determines the place where the tree will 
strike when it falls. A good man can fell a tree about 
where he pleases. The undercut also prevents any 
slivering or splitting off on the trunk when the tree 
falls, as would be pretty sure to happen if it were cut 
wholly from one side. The sawyers, you know, always 
start their saws on the side of the tree opposite the 
undercut. The sled-tender takes the limbs off the tree, 
and cuts it off at the top. He lugs the drag-sled round 
when the team comes for it, and helps the teamster 
load it. The yard-tender has charge of the piling up 
of the logs. Each crew works on its own hook, inde- 
pendent of all the others. It’s quite a hustle, I can 
tell you, to see which one will make the best showing.” 

“ When you take out the noon lunch on your hand- 
sled, what do you carry ? ” 

“ Two big buckets. In one are biscuits and dough- 
nuts and sweetbread; in the other, baked beans, hot 
from the oven. I also carry a bag containing tin dip- 
pers, plates, iron knives and spoons. In addition to 
all these things I take along a small jug of molasses. 
The men take tea with them. They build a fire at 
noon and make their tea over it in a big tin pot that 
holds ten quarts.” 

“ They must have tremendous appetites,” said Nor- 
man. 

“ Appetites ! ” repeated Fred. “ Well, say, you 
wouldn’t believe men could hold so much if you didn’t 
see ’em stow it away. Our horses — big fellows they 


1 12 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


are, too — are ’bout as bad. Each of ’em averages 
to eat a bushel of oats a day.” 

“ I should think it would kill them,” declared Nor- 
man. 

“ Well, it doesn’t seem to, here — though I’ve heard 
Billy Eustace, our boss, say as how more horses are 
spoiled in the woods by overfeeding than are spoiled 
by hard work. He couldn’t make the teamsters believe 
it, though. They think the more they can stuff into 
a horse, the better he’ll stand it. Like to get a look at 
the camp?” he added, abruptly. 

“ Yes,” admitted Norman. 

“ We’ll have to be moving, then. Vede Pelotte’s in 
the men’s camp, and will keep the fire going there. 
I have to start it in season to get things warmed up 
before the boys get back. They always want a red- 
hot stove to thaw out by.” 

“ It will soon be dark,” said Norman, as he followed 
his companion out-of-doors. 

“ Yes. It begins to shut down here about four 
o’clock. That’s the main camp,” he continued, point- 
ing to a long, low log structure which stood opposite 
the beaver house at a distance of about thirty feet. At 
first glance it looked to Norman like a long, peaked 
roof of easy slope projecting above the snow. Closer 
inspection, however, revealed two large log structures 
standing end to end about sixteen feet apart and cov- 
ered with what appeared to be one continuous roof, 
about midway and at the further end of which pro- 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 113 


jected short lengths of smoking stovepipe. This roof 
also covered the intervening space between the camps, 
which was closed on the back by logs placed side by 
side perpendicularly, and was open to the weather on 
the front, forming a shed for the housing of the camp 
grindstone, and the storing of beef, pork, frozen fish, 
and various other camp supplies. 

“ That’s the dingle,” explained Fred, pointing to 
this intervening shed. “ The doors open from it into 
the ends of the two camps. The camp on the left is 
the men’s camp, and the one on the right is the cook’s 
camp. Those big log buildings to the left are the 
horse-hovels. The one facing the further end of the 
cook’s camp is the blacksmith shop. The small one 
beyond the horse-hovels is the oat-house. That little 
camp beside the beaver house used also to be an oat- 
house, but they had it fixed over this winter for the 
use of the scalers. They’ve got a stove in there, and 
are as warm and cosy as a bear in a log.” 

“ Do bears stay in logs ? ” questioned Norman, with 
a smile. 

“ Sometimes — when they’re big and hollow,” re- 
sponded Fred, good-naturedly. 

“ The bears or the logs ? ” 

“ Both.” 

“ Hello, there, Fred,” called a voice from the beaver 
house. 

“ That’s the boss, Billy Eustace,” announced Fred. 
“ You’d better go in with me and meet him.” 


1 14 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


Returning to the beaver house, they found the boss 
standing in the middle of the camp with a letter in his 
hand, looking visibly perplexed and worried. He was 
a tall, wiry-built man, whose slightly stooping shoul- 
ders bore testimony to years of hard work. His hair 
was long, and a scrubby growth of bristly black beard 
covered his face. His eyes were mild and blue, though 
the firm, set lines of his mouth indicated both a resolute 
spirit and tenacity of purpose. 

‘‘Where — ” he began, as Fred came in — “ er — 
who’s this ? ” he added, with an abrupt change, catch- 
ing sight of Norman. 

“ This is Norman Carver,” announced Fred. 

“ Oh, yes ; Mr. Ordway wrote me about you. Glad 
to see you,” responded the boss, giving Norman a 
hearty shake of the hand and a quick, scrutinizing 
glance. “ Sit down. Do you know, Fred,” he added, 
turning to the cookee, “ we’re in a deuce of a scrape. 
Where did this letter come from ? ” 

“ Vede Pelotte just brought it.” 

“ Did he tell you what was in it ? ” 

“ No. I don’t think he knew.” 

“ Well, it’s a note from Dave Hardy, saying that 
his wife, with Mr. Seavey and his daughter Margie, 
expects to be here to-night about six o’clock. They 
are going to drive in from Aerie lake. Great smoke! 
This camp looks like a barn. You see,” he explained 
to Norman, “ I’ve been my own clerk so far this winter, 
and haven’t had time to keep things slicked up much. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 115 


I swan, it’s a pretty tough place for ladies to stay in. 
Call Vede,” he added, turning to Fred. “ Now, boys,” 
he continued, when the cookee returned with the team- 
ster, “ just hustle these blankets into the scaler’s camp. 
They’re pretty bad — chock-full o’ tobacco-smoke ’n’ 
not particularly clean. Mighty glad I’m lucky enough 
to have a few extra ones on the bottom o’ one of the 
wangan chests.” 

Norman assisted Fred and the teamster to lug the 
discarded bedding into the scaler’s camp, from which 
they returned to find Eustace sweeping out the beaver 
house with a fury of zeal that had already enveloped 
him in a cloud of dust. 

“ Ka-chouch — aw — a — Ka — chah ! ” he sneezed. 
“ Don’t believe this blamed camp’s been swept out all 
winter. Never expected to entertain ladies here — no, 
blessed if I did. Mighty lucky to have fresh boughs in 
them bunks. Deacon and Pokerface changed ’em over 
last Sunday. By gum! I reckon they’ll have t’ take 
things ’bout as they find ’em. Get a hustle there, 
boys ! ” 

Norman and Vede hurried about under Fred’s direc- 
tion, putting things to rights, while Eustace, having 
completed his strenuous sweeping, unlocked and opened 
one of the big boxes in the room, from which he pres- 
ently produced a pile of blankets. 

“ There, thet begins to look something like,” he 
declared, in a tone of satisfaction, when he had spread 
them on the lower bunks. “ Now I’ll just fold up a 


n6 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


couple o’ these new mackinaws for pillows, an’ every- 
thing ’ll be as snug as a bug in a rug. We’re a trifle 
shy o’ purple an’ fine linen here at Camp 4 this winter ; 
but I reckon they’ll survive. Sorry for you, Carver,” 
he added, turning to Norman. “ I’d planned on your 
sleeping here in the beaver house; but you’ll have to 
bunk in with Fred in the men’s camp while the women 
are here. Got room in your bunk, haven’t you, Fred? ” 

“ I guess we can squeeze in all right,” returned the 
cookee. 

“ I’ll bet you can, an’ sleep warmer for it,” said 
the boss, approvingly. “ You see, boys, the minister’s 
coming t’ supper, an’ we’ve got to have the wood- 
chuck.” 

“Will you need us any further?” asked Fred. 

“ No, I think not.” 

“ Well, come over to the big camp with us, Norman. 
The cook will be on my trail if I don’t get to work 
with him, so I’ll leave you in Vede’s care in the men’s 
camp till supper-time. I’ll have a place all saved out 
for you at one of the tables.” 

The cookee turned to the right as they entered the 
dingle, while Norman followed Vede Pelotte through 
the doorway on the left, and entered the quarters 
specially reserved for and dedicated to the men who 
formed the bone and sinew of the camp’s crew. 


CHAPTER X 


CHARACTERISTICS OF CAMP 4 

Norman’s first impression of the men’s camp was 
one of disappointment. It was distinctly stuffy and, 
even in the dim light, looked anything but clean. The 
floor was made of hewn logs which did not fit closely 
together at the sides, and upon which he found it some- 
what difficult to maintain an even footing. It was 
stained with tobacco- juice, and its gaping cracks had 
gradually filled with a well-packed accumulation of 
dirt. Near the door of the camp, in the front part of 
the big room, was an enormous box stove, whose red- 
hot sides sent out a glow of heat that seemed fully 
capable of subduing the various cold draughts that 
steadily forced their way into the apartment from the 
outside world to do battle with it. The efficacy of 
this stove was further enhanced by a long funnel that 
ran from it nearly to the bunks that extended across 
the end of the camp, assisting it materially in the dis- 
tribution of its warmth. 

This funnel was suspended about midway of the 
roof peak, by means of wire cut from bales of pressed 
hay — an article which, as Norman soon learned, fills 
a very important part in the economy of a logging- 


1 18 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


camp. Starting from the front of the stove, two poles 

— one on either side — extended the entire length of 
the funnel, being suspended at the ends by lengths of 
hay wire attached to the roof. A few pairs of heavy 
woolen leggings and mittens hung from these poles, 
indicating the drying purposes to which they were ded- 
icated. Up the slant of the roof long logs — or ribs — 
extended at intervals of three or four feet from one 
end of the camp to the other, forming the framework 
upon which the roof was nailed. What appeared to 
be narrow boards had been used for covering in these 
ribs, but so rough and splintery were they that Nor- 
man felt convinced that they could never have come 
from a sawmill. 

“ Dem cedarre spleet,” said Vede Pelotte, noting 
his perplexity. 

“What?” asked Norman, in still greater uncer- 
tainty. 

“ He said they were cedar splits,” explained the 
scaler, who had entered the camp in season to hear 
Vede’s statement. “ They are a kind of board split 
out of cedar logs by the use of wooden mauls, and 
a wedge-like tool called a froe. All logging-camp 
roofs were once covered with splits; but in these days 
a large part of them are roofed with sawed boards 
and tarred paper. The going was so soft when these 
camps were built that it was thought best to use splits 

— which make a fairly tight roof when carefully laid. 
These are the deacon seats,” continued Mr. Collins, 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


119 

pointing to some rough benches made of heavy planks 
hewn from logs which extended across the end of the 
camp and part way down the sides in front of the 
bunks. “ There’s where the men sit to smoke their 
pipes, spin their yarns, and sing their songs on Sun- 
days, and before they go to bed at night. It is the 
social center of camp life.” 

Norman looked somewhat askance at the rough 
benches, beneath which was a dingy collection of well- 
worn larrigans, moccasins, and lumbermen’s rubbers. 
He found it difficult to persuade himself that anyone 
could take any real comfort on the uneven surface of 
such rude seats, where there was neither spring nor 
back; but he forbore to comment. 

Across the further end of the camp extended a big 
double-decked bunk. The camp floor formed the bot- 
tom of the lower deck, a log extending in front of it on 
top of the floor from one side of the camp to the other, 
serving to make a bay for holding in place the fine 
fir boughs upon which the heavy blankets were spread. 

It was only about four feet from the lower bunk to 
the upper one, the bottom of which was made by small 
spruce poles placed side by side over big log stringers, 
extending from one side of the camp to the other. 
These stringers were cut into the camp logs at the 
end, and were supported at intervals by big log pos^s 
extending to the floor. A large log extended from * 
side to side of the camp over the ends of the small 
floor-poles which were nearest the stove, and served, 


i2o ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


like the one on the camp floor below, to form a bay 
for the upper bunk. The top bunk was one continuous 
blanket-covered bough bed, the men sleeping side by 
side under a continuous line of blankets with their feet 
toward the stove. The lower bunk was divided off by 
partitions, many of them lined with sheathing-paper, 
and capable of affording sleeping accommodations for 
from two to six men. These compartments looked to 
Norman like a row of low-studded horse-stalls. Sim- 
ilar stall-like bunks had also been built upon a much 
smaller scale against the side walls of the camp at right 
angles with the large ones across the end of the camp; 
being rendered necessary, as the scaler explained, to 
provide for the larger crew which had been employed 
for yarding operations earlier in the season. 

“ Can a man — ” Norman paused abruptly in some 
embarrassment. 

“ Keep clean in such surroundings ? ” interposed the 
scaler, completing the question. “ He can, in a large 
measure, if he really wants to. He will, of course, 
have to sleep in his clothes. All the men do that; but 
he can scald out two or three sets of underwear and 
a few pairs of socks every Sunday if he is willing to 
take the trouble. He can also take precautions that 
will keep his bunk free from vermin, the prevalence of 
which varies in different camps. There are usually 
some men in ’most every logging-crew who scarcely 
trouble to change their clothing all winter. It takes 
about two weeks of daily duckings on the spring drive 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


121 


to get such fellows even passably clean. You’ll have 
no trouble with Fred Warner. He’s a nice clean 
fellow, physically and morally. I’ll wager his bunk 
is well fenced and free from danger.” 

Norman looked relieved. His eye traveled over the 
canvas extenders, and looped grain-bags, hanging from 
nails driven into the roof-ribs which contained the 
extra clothing and personal effects of the crew. It 
was evident that very little room in the camp was per- 
mitted to go to waste. 

The night settled down rapidly upon the deep woods. 
The waning sunlight streamed more and more dimly 
through the diminutive panes of the two small win- 
dows that lighted the camp in the daytime — one at 
the end above the top bunks, the other on the side. 
Lengthening shadows crept along the camp floor. The 
scaler and Vede Pelotte lighted the two kerosene lamps 
with big tin reflectors that were fastened to the camp- 
walls, and the half-dozen lanterns that were suspended 
by hay wire from the roof-ribs in various parts of the 
big room. 

The tote-teamster had employed so much of his time 
in crowding big sticks of wood into the capacious stove, 
that the temperature of the camp had grown so hot 
as to be almost unbearable; and Norman, eager to get 
a breath of fresh air, passed out into the well-beaten 
roadway in front of the dingle. A strange and solemn 
hush had fallen upon the big woods. A few belated 
bird-voices sounded sleepily from the dark coverts. 


122 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


The tall spruces and hemlocks lifted spectral arms into 
the deepening twilight, and a rising breeze sang soft 
and solemn dirges up and down the forest aisles. 
Presently along the surrounding wood-roads came the 
distant sound of bells, which grew louder and nearer 
until their clamorous notes mingled with the voices of 
men, and the clank of dragging chains. 

The men and teams were returning from their day’s 
work. Norman turned and re-entered the camp. He 
seated himself on the deacon seat, and awaited with 
some interest the coming of the crew. The first to 
put in an appearance was Sol Soc, the big Indian whose 
life he had saved on the train in the trip to Gamewood 
siding. The impassive face of the red mart betrayed 
neither surprise nor pleasure at seeing him there. 

“ How do ? ” he grunted. 

“ How do you do?” returned Norman, cordially. 

“ When come ? ” 

“ This afternoon.” 

“ Good.” 

The big Indian went to the wood-pile and selected 
from among the kindlings there a long pine splinter. 
Seating himself upon the deacon seat, he drew a big 
hunting-knife from a hip-pocket, and, opening it, pro- 
ceeded to whittle a sharp edge on either side of the 
stick in his hand, after which he used it to carefully 
scrape away the snow that clung to his leggings. This 
done, he removed his moccasins and placed them near 
the roaring stove. Following this, he removed his 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 123 


sweater and leggings and hung them, together with a 
heavy pair of home-knit mittens, over one of the dry- 
ing-poles. He then fished a pair of dry moccasins 
from the pile under the deacon seat and put them on 
his feet, after which he passed to the log trough that 
stood near the door and served for a camp sink. Pour- 
ing a dipper of water into one of the tin wash-basins, 
he carefully washed his face and hands, combed his hair 
before the small cracked mirror that hung on the wall, 
and seated himself again on the deacon seat. 

“ Always a little ahead of the procession, Sol,” said 
the scaler, genially. 

“ Li’l bit — som’time,” admitted the Indian, laconi- 
cally. 

There was a tramp of feet into the dingle. The 
door swung open on its creaking hinges, and a crowd 
of men in moccasins and leggings came surging into 
the camp. Soon the room was filled with men. 
Strangely silent and observant these strong, weather- 
beaten workers appeared to Norman, who had expected 
to find them something like an exuberant crowd of 
schoolboys out for recess. They moved about the 
camp with the mechanical quickness and directness 
with which men come to do a similar and oft-repeated 
task. Heavy clothing was removed, scraped or shaken 
free from ice or snow, and hung upon the dry-poles, 
after which the men crowded about the rude sink. 
There was a subdued eagerness in their hurried prepa- 
rations for supper, and much of their conversation was 


124 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


carried on with monosyllabic brevity. There were, it 
is true, occasional attempts at rude jest and repartee, 
sometimes coarse in tone and prefaced with oaths, but 
as a whole the crowd was neither a noisy nor a loqua- 
cious one. At the same time, Norman came in for 
friendly nods, and it was evident that the men were 
not lacking in a spirit of good-fellowship. 

Soon a double row of damp larrigans, moccasins, 
and lumbermen’s rubbers were standing about the 
roaring stove, while the drying-poles bent low beneath 
the heavy pile of soggy clothing heaped upon 
them. 

Quickly, methodically, and in pairs, the members of 
the crew performed their hasty but strenuous toilets 
at the camp sink, whose accommodations were limited 
to two at a time. A little later, responding to the call 
of the cookee, they trooped, with glistening hair and 
glowing faces, across the dingle to their places about 
the primitive supper-tables in the cook’s camp. 

Norman and the scaler lingered behind. 

“ They’re a ravenous crowd,” declared Mr. Collins, 
with a laugh, “ and I calculate our chances will be just 
as good if we give them time to work off the raw edge 
of their appetites.” 

“ I guess I’ll improve the opportunity to wash up,” 
said Norman. Stepping to the sink, he filled the tin 
dipper from the pail of water which one of the men 
had brought in a moment before. He emptied it into 
a wash-basin, and paused abruptly. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 125 


“ Anything wrong ? ” asked the scaler, noting his 
hesitation. 

“ This water’s full of little bits of ice.” 

The scaler smiled indulgently. 

“ It’s pretty sure to be where it’s dipped from a 
water-hole cut through the ice,” he explained. 

“ Was this the kind of water the others washed 
in?” 

“ The very same.” 

“ Then I reckon I can stand it,” declared Norman. 
He turned to the sink and picked up the cake of laun- 
dry-soap that had done duty for the crew, gazed 
askance at it for a moment, and laid it down in 
disgust. 

“ Dirty ? ” asked the scaler. 

“ Just a bit,” admitted Norman. 

The scaler looked at him with a gleam of amuse- 
ment in his eyes. “ I was waiting to see how you’d 
take these hurdles,” he confessed. “ I always make 
it a practice in camp to use the first basinful of water 
for washing the soap. Perhaps, however, this will 
help you out,” he added, handing him a small cake 
of toilet-soap. 

“ It’s a perfect Godsend,” declared Norman. 

He briskly scrubbed his face and hands in the ice- 
cold water, wet his hair, and turned to the roller-towel 
that hung upon the wall. He dropped it at once, fished 
a handkerchief from his pocket, dug the soapy water 
from his eyes, and gazed aghast at the section of rough 


126 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


crash he had been about to use. It was almost as black 
as a hat, and fairly caked with dirt. 

“ Couldn’t see it with your eyes shut — could you? ” 
asked the scaler. 

“ No,” admitted Norman, “ but I could smell it.” 

“ It does come pretty near being the limit,” assented 
the scaler. “ It was clean, though, when those fellows 
started in on it. I suppose you have some towels in 
your extender ? ” 

“ Yes. Mr. Ordway had me bring a dozen.” 

“ It will be all right to use them in the beaver house ; 
but while you’re in here you’d better plan to get the 
first run on the roller, or stay behind and worry along 
with your handkerchief. The men are apt to be a 
little prejudiced if they think a newcomer is fastidious 
or trying to put on style.” 

“ I don’t see how Fred Warner stands it,” declared 
Norman. 

“ He doesn’t have to,” explained the scaler. “ He 
has a chance to do his washing up in the cook’s 
camp.” 

Norman finished wiping himself with his handker- 
chief, and, taking a small comb from his pocket, care- 
fully combed his hair before the small, cracked, and 
somewhat foggy mirror. 

“ Got your own comb, I see,” laughed the scaler. 

“ Yes — thanks to Mr. Ordway.” 

“ Well, I’ve no doubt he’s fitted you out with about 
all the things you’ll need, when you get a chance to 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 127 


use them,” declared the scaler, as he led the way across 
the dingle into the cook’s camp. 

To his surprise and relief, Norman found this camp 
a decided improvement upon the one occupied by the 
men. The floor was made of boards, and, like other 
parts of the camp, was scrupulously clean. One end 
of the big room was occupied by a big cooking-range, 
a cooking-bench, and a number of shelves piled high 
with boxes of supplies. Long rough tables extended 
across the opposite side of the room. These were cov- 
ered with oilcloth. The men sat up to them on rough 
benches made of hewn logs, similar to the deacon seats, 
and the steady rattle of iron knives and forks upon tin 
dishes attested the vigor with which they were enjoy- 
ing the meal. There was very little conversation, and 
even this was carried on with marked brevity and in 
subdued tones. It was apparently an eating match, 
in which every competitor felt the necessity of attend- 
ing strictly to business. 

Fred Warner, who was busily engaged in filling pint 
dippers with steaming tea from an enormous tin pot, 
nodded to them as they entered the camp, and pointed 
to some vacant seats at a table in the corner. Sol Soc 
was already there, and gave Norman and the scaler a 
mere grunt of recognition as they took their places. 
They had barely seated themselves before two new- 
comers entered the camp and took the vacant seats 
opposite them. Norman was surprised to recognize 
the familiar faces of Pete Bedotte and Jud Skinner — 


128 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


the latter looking decidedly subdued after his harrow- 
ing experience at Gamewood siding. 

The big Frenchman was obviously delighted to see 
them again, and fairly beamed upon them. 

“ Bon jour, M’sieu Carvarre! Bonjour, M’sieu Col- 
leens ! ” he exclaimed, heartily. “ Ba golly, eet ban 
good for see you on top dees place.” 

“ We’re glad to see you, Pete,” responded the scaler, 
cordially; “ but how does it happen you’re late to sup- 
per ? Haven’t lost your appetite, have you ? ” 

“ Ba golly, I gass not — me,” said the big French- 
man, with a laugh. “ Ma beeg black hoss cut heemse’f 
on her foot. I stay leetle while for feex her. I gass 
she ban all rat now.” 

“ Still mindful of your team, I see,” said the scaler. 
“ I’ll bet you have the best one in camp.” 

“ Dey ban prattee fair hoss, I t’ink,” admitted the 
teamster, with an accent of pride. “ Dey bote ban jus’ 
so fat lak wan leetle mouse. I feed dem plaintee oat 
an’ hay when dey ban hongree.” 

“ I’ll warrant you do,” acquiesced the scaler. “ When 
did you get along?” he asked, turning to Skin- 
ner. 

“ Just a few minutes ago.” 

“You started out ahead of us this morning, and I 
thought we should pick you up on the road.” 

“ I stopped a while at Camp 2. Reckon you must 
have passed me there,” responded Skinner. 

The remainder of the meal was passed in compara- 



The men sat up to them on hough benches. — Page 127. 






















» 













ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 129 


tive silence, no one appearing much inclined to engage 
in conversation. 

The hot biscuit, well spread with butterine, the cold 
fresh pork, the hot baked beans, swimming in fat, and 
the steaming tea, colored with condensed milk and 
sugared to taste, aroused an unexpectedly sharp appe- 
tite in Norman, and when he left the table it was with 
the conviction that he had done full justice to the 
repast. 

As he paused for a moment in the dingle after leav- 
ing the cook’s camp, he heard the jingle of bells and 
the sound of women’s voices in front of the beaver 
house. It was evident that the expected visitors had 
put in an appearance. 

“ I must leave you now, Norman,” said Mr. Collins, 
who had followed closely behind him. “ I am going 
to sleep in the scalers’ camp. I should have been glad 
to have swapped with you, only I felt that it might be 
well, perhaps, for you to see something of the crew.” 

“ That’s what I want to do,” said Norman. 
“ Besides, I wouldn’t consent for a moment to turn 
you out of your bed.” 

“ I’m an old-timer in the woods, my boy,” returned 
the scaler, “ and can make myself at home ’most any- 
where.” 

“ I hope to learn how to do that myself.” 

“ And I have no doubt you will,” declared the scaler, 
with conviction. “ Good-night.” 

“ Good-night.” 


i3o ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


For a moment after Mr. Collins had left him, Nor- 
man stood looking out upon the stars that glimmered 
coldly in the blue sky above the tree-tops. A new life 
was opening up to him — a life so different from any 
he had ever imagined that he felt like pinching him- 
self to make sure that he was not dreaming. Already 
he was beginning to appreciate some of the hardships 
involved in it; but he assured himself that he would 
meet them manfully, and do his best to fulfil the 
requirements of his position. In the strength of this 
resolution he turned and re-entered the men’s camp. 


CHAPTER XI 


NORMAN BECOMES AN ENTERTAINER 

No sooner had the door closed behind him than 
Norman became uncomfortably conscious that he was 
undergoing the scrutiny of a score or more of curious 
eyes. An immediate hush had fallen upon the conver- 
sation, and every man present seemed to have entered 
into a contest to see which one of them would be the 
first to stare him out of countenance. Even a group 
of men seated on some blankets, in the big central 
compartment of the long lower bunk, and engaged in 
the absorbing pastime of swapping watches, by the 
dim light of a lantern, promptly suspended business 
and peered out at him with an intensity of interest 
that was decidedly disconcerting. 

He was unaware of the fact that his rescue of Sol 
Soc, who despite his taciturn ways was a favorite with 
the crew, had already preceded him to Camp 4, where 
big Pete Bedotte, blessed with a vivid imagination, 
had made sure that it lost nothing in the telling. 
Nowhere does the quality of courage command greater 
homage than in a logging crew; and Norman, without 
knowing why, was conscious that the looks cast in 
his direction were of a most friendly nature. 


132 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Ba Joe, I ban ver’ glad for see you/’ said Pete 
Bedotte, coming forward from the deacon seat and 
shaking him warmly by the hand. “ Boys,” he 
announced, with an impressive wave of his hand, 
“ dis heem, M’sieu Carvarre, de leetle fellaire w’at 
I ban tole you ’bout.” 

“ How are ye?” “Glad t’ see ye;” “Bonjour;” 
“ Bonjour,” came in chorus of salutation from the 
members of the crew. 

“ Seet down, M’sieu Carvarre,” continued Pete, 
pointing to an open space on the deacon seat. “Jus’ 
mak’ youse’f rat on home.” 

With a murmur of thanks, Norman took the indi- 
cated seat beside the big Frenchman, and gazed with 
intense interest, and some diffidence, upon the strange 
scene about him. Mackinaws, leggings, sweaters, and 
other articles of clothing, responding to the compelling 
heat of the red-hot stove, were sending up from the 
crowded drying-poles clouds of steam, acrid with the 
reek of perspiration. Rows of larrigans, moccasins, 
and lumbermen’s rubbers simmered on the floor at a 
safe distance from the fire. A few men, reclining at 
length on the bunks, were reading by lantern-light, 
either yellow-covered novels or the newspapers and 
letters which had been brought to the camp by Vede 
Pelotte. By far the greater number, however, sat on 
the deacon seats about the big stove. Many were 
industriously puffing black looking pipes, chiefly corn- 
cobs, and filling the overheated atmosphere with a 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 133 


suffocating assortment of evil smelling tobacco-smoke. 
Those of the crew on the deacon seat who were not 
smoking were chewing, either spruce gum or tobacco, 
and Norman noted with amazement their astonishing 
feats of expectoration in the direction of the glowing 
stove. In a corner by the sink two men were busily 
engaged in sharpening an axe on the grindstone which 
they had brought in from the dingle. One stood upon 
the frame with the axe in both hands, forcing its edge 
upon the stone by holding his knee against the back 
side of it, while the other patiently turned the handle. 
The men, having discarded their outer garments, 
exhibited a variegated assortment of flannel shirts in 
which blue and red were the prevailing colors. Some 
wore belts, but the sweat stains on their backs still 
showed the outlines of suspenders. Nearly every 
member of the crew was perspiring freely; but not 
one of them suggested ventilation, all, apparently, 
being impressed with the necessity of storing up suffi- 
cient heat to last them through the night. Through 
the accumulation of abominable smells pervading the 
camp came, like a saving grace, the aromatic and dom- 
inating scent of the fir boughs that filled the bunks. 
It was an atmosphere found nowhere else in the world 
— an atmosphere indescribable and inconceivable, save 
to those who have spent a midwinter evening in a 
Maine logging-camp. 

To Norman, accustomed to sleep in a well-ventilated 
room, the situation seemed almost intolerable; but he 


i 3 4 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


chewed grimly upon the cud of spruce gum with which 
Pete Bedotte had provided him, fully resolved to meet 
the conditions of his new life without weakness and 
without complaint. 

He found himself listening with interest to the con- 
versation about him, which appeared for the time to 
be dominated by one Jim Benner, a tall, raw-boned 
Yankee, with a rough, weather-beaten face, deeply 
pitted from smallpox. It was evident that Benner 
had seen a great deal of experience in the woods and 
on the drive, and that his opinions carried weight with 
the crew. 

“ Reg’lar ole Hessian — ole Jim is,” whispered Jud 
Skinner, who sat at Norman’s left. “Stronger ’n a 
moose; hard es nails; ruther ’d scrap ’n eat. Bossed 
a crew of his own once. Booze floored ’im.” 

“ How did ye ever manage t’ lodge thet big spruce? 
We sort o’ expect better o’ Pierre Daviau,” said the 
oracle, addressing a short, thick-set Frenchman who 
was smoking near him. 

“ Ma gosh ! I don’ can tell — me,” was the reply. 
“ Dat tree play me wan ver’ smart treeck. I was t’ink 
she ban undercut so she fall rat out nice an’ clear wit’ 
beeg end for road. Monjee! when she ban ready for 
fall she ac’ jus lak she ban crazee. She jomp on 
stomp. She sweeng rat roun’, she fall rat on dat beeg 
hemlock. Sapre! She steeck ver’ fas’. It was get 
for dark, so I lef’ heem.” 

“ I reckon you can tie a warp an’ pull her off in the 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 135 


mornin’,” responded old Jim, encouragingly ; “but 
even then you’re goin’ t’ leave her in a nasty place t’ 
git out. Th’ main thing in gittin’ trees is t’ have ’em 
felled right. I’d a durn sight ruther take a tree stand- 
in’ then t’ hev it badly felled.” 

“I guess dat ban so,” admitted Pierre. “ Ba Joe! 
I t’ink I’d lak jus’ wan game pokerre,” he added, with 
an evident desire to change the subject. 

A murmur of assent greeted this suggestion. 

“ I s’pose,” said old Jim, reflectively, surveying the 
group with a critical eye, “ thet ye feel ’s if Harry 
McMurray was a trifle hard on ye, a-shuttin’ off singin’ 
an’ hoss-play on Sundays, ’n’ a-squelchin’ booze V 
card-playin’ et all times; but I’m a-tellin’ on ye he’s 
jest right, boys — dead right. I’ve run a crew myself, 
’n’ I know it’s bis’ness. Card-playin’s sartin sure t’ 
stir up a rumpus in a crew. Even when the men play 
fer fun some on ’em git riled, an’ where they play fer 
money there’s bound t’ be bad blood all round sooner 
or later. When men git t’ playin’ cards in a loggin’- 
camp there’s many a dull axe es doesn’t git ground, 
an’ many a hoss es doesn’t git decent care. I had a 
crew over on Sebois waters one winter thet got fairly 
daft on cards. So much so thet th’ temsters got t’ 
neglectin’ of their hosses. Two or three teams got 
well-nigh wuthless. I jest made up my mind t’ put 
a stop to it, so one night I hung ’em right up in the 
midst o’ their play. I told ’em their hosses was showin’ 
th’ result o’ their neglect, ’n’ while they owned their 


136 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


teams the fact remained thet they were not a-keepin’ 
of ’em in shape t’ do decent work for me. They denied 
it, up hill V down; but, by hemlock! I wouldn’t 
knuckle to ’em. I jest picked up a lantern ’n’ told 
every man jack on ’em t’ come out t’ the hovel with 
me. They didn’t ary one on ’em want t’ come, but 
I made ’em. We found a row o’ hosses standin’ there 
with their legs all ice, ’n’ not a blamed bit o’ provender 
in their cribs. You bet them fellers didn’t hev very 
much t’ say. I told ’em right then ’n’ there — ’n’ told 
’em emphatical — es how there wouldn’t be no more 
card-playin’ in my camp thet winter — ’n’ there wasn’t. 
I tell ye it made a mighty lot o’ diff’runce in the work 
I was able t’ git out o’ thet crew. No sir-ee, no cards 
in mine.” 

Nods of approval showed that the men were 
impressed with the force of old Jim’s logic. 

“ They say es how Harry McMurray’s father hed 
them same idees,” suggested Jud Skinner. 

“ He did,” assented old Jim. “ I knew Jeff McMur- 
ray well. Lumbered with ’im one winter over on 
Chesuncook. He was a peculiar man, but a good 
logger — ’n’ square’s a brick. I remember he ’n’ me 
got in to supper after the others were all through one 
night. While we was eatin’ a young feller who hed 
got delayed somehow or other come in an’ sot down 
nigh th’ foot o’ th’ table. There was a heapin’ plate 
o’ molasses doughnuts jest in front on ’im, ’n’ he pre- 
ceded t’ fill up on ’em. He et all but one on ’em 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 137 


afore he stopped to take a good full breath, after which 
he sort o’ hesitated a minute ’n’ then he reached out 
’n’ took thet last doughnut; broke it in two, put one 
half back on th’ plate ’n’ et t’other. Jeff was a-watchin’ 
on ’im all th’ time outer th’ corners of his eyes, ’n’ I 
could see he was gittin’ mighty hot; but he never said 
a word to ’im till the youngster got up t’ leave th’ 
table — then he opened on ’im. ‘By th’ Jim Hill!’ 
says he ; ‘ you’ve sot there ’n’ et a whole meal o’ dough- 
nuts; but by mighty! you’ll never eat another dough- 
nut in my camp! ’ — ’n’ he never did, for Jeff slid ’im 
out th’ very next mornin’ ’n’ there wasn’t no dough- 
nuts for breakfast.” 

“ Let’s have a song or two, boys,” suggested a tall, 
dark-complexioned man, who had, hitherto, been a 
silent listener to the conversation. 

“ Hooraw ! Whoop-er-up, ole man,” came the 
approving shout from the members of the crew. 

Thus admonished, the proposer of the song — who, 
Norman subsequently learned, was Ike Tapley, the 
camp blacksmith, familiarly known as “ Pokerface ” — 
cleared his throat and piped up valiantly, in thin, nasal 
tones that made up in penetration what they lacked in 
melody, as follows: 

“Oh-h-h give me a pipe o' good black plug 
With the gang on the deacon row, 

And little I care for the cold without 
Where the wintry winds do blow. 

Then tune up the fiddle, 

And dance down the middle, 


138 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


Come drive dull care away ! 

Whoop-er-up and sing — 

Make the camp-ribs ring — 

Let’s frolic while we may !” 

The men came in with a roar of enthusiasm on the 
chorus, beating out the time on the floor with their 
feet. Tapley evidently had a number of more verses 
in reserve, and was about to start another, when he 
was interrupted by Pete Bedotte, who had apparently 
found inspiration in the words of the chorus. 

“You get musique — you play fidelle?” he asked, 
excitedly. 

“ No,” confessed Norman, to whom this question 
was addressed. “ I pound a banjo a little, but I don’t 
know anything about a fiddle.” 

“ De banjo! Hooraw!” shouted big Pete, fairly 
jumping up and down in an ecstasy of satisfaction. 
“ Jomp on you foot, Baptiste ! ” he added, addressing 
a small, dark-eyed young Frenchman who sat near 
him. “ Ronne queek for fetch dat banjo.” 

Norman’s look of consternation was promptly noted 
by old Jim Benner, and it brought a smile of amuse- 
ment to his rugged features. 

“You can find ’most anything in a lumber-camp — 
et a pinch,” he said. “ We hed a feller here the fust 
of the season who was a consider’ble big herb with 
a banjo. If he’d be’n able t’ done half es good a turn 
in th’ woods he’d probably hev held down his job. 
When he left, the boys chipped in ’n’ bought his banjo, 
callatin’ to hev Baptiste Groder — who butchers the 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


i39 


fiddle a little — pick it up ; but somehow he doesn’t 
jest seem t’ hev got th’ hang on it.” 

When Baptiste, duly impressed with the importance 
of his mission, scrambled down from the upper bunk 
with the banjo, he was followed by every man in the 
camp who was not already on the deacon seats. Those 
who were not able to find places on the rude benches 
dangled their legs in a row from the top of the long 
end bunk. Fred Warner, having finished his work in 
the cook’s camp, also joined the audience. There was 
a look of expectancy on every face, and Norman could 
not help a feeling of embarrassment at this unlooked- 
for prominence into which his careless disclaimer had 
brought him. Fortunately he was a more than aver- 
age player upon the banjo, and the instrument which • 
had been so unexpectedly thrust into his hands was a 
fairly good one. After a moment spent in tuning up, 
he struck suddenly into the stirring strains of Sousa’s 
“ El Capitan ” march. In a moment, nearly every 
man in the camp was beating out the time with his 
foot, the rhythmic thud of moccasins upon the floor 
having almost the effect of a muffled drum. As the 
music proceeded some of the crew, especially the 
Frenchmen, followed its time also with swaying bodies. 
Finishing the march, Norman struck up a lively jig- 
tune, and, unable further to restrain their enthusiasm, 
a number of the men went dancing in pairs up and 
down the rough and limited floor-space behind the 
stove. As the jig came to an end and the perspiring 


Ho ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


dancers sought places upon the deacon seats, Norman 
was greeted with a clapping of hands, and, lifting a 
startled glance, perceived four people, whose entrance 
he had not observed, standing near the camp door. 
Two of them he recognized as Billy Eustace and Mrs. 
Hardy. The other two he knew must be Mr. Seavey 
arid his daughter. 

With flushed face, Norman rose to his feet and 
laid the banjo down upon the deacon seat. He felt 
decidedly abashed and uncomfortable; but Billy Eus- 
tace quickly relieved the restraint by stepping forward 
and introducing Mr. Seavey — a pleasant-faced man, 
sorriewhat past middle life, who shook hands with him 
cordially. 

“ I see you’ve already won your way with the men,” 
he said, with a smile. “ Now let me present you to 
my daughter Margie.” 

“ Oh, Mr. Carver ! I do hope you are not going to 
stop,” exclaimed the young lady, as she gave him her 
hand. 

Norman was not too confused to perceive that she 
was dark-haired, dark-eyed, fair-complexioned and dis- 
tinctly pretty. Ordinarily, he was a self-possessed 
young man in the presence of ladies, but now he felt, 
in his diffidence, that he was blushing furiously. 

“ Really — you see — I — I didn’t know — that — 
that — ” he stammered, awkwardly. 

“ That you had ladies in the audience?” interposed 
Miss Seavey, laughingly. “ Really, Mr. Carver, I 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 141 


think we owe you an apology for the unceremonious 
way we came in upon you; but my father assured us 
that ladies would never see the members of a logging- 
crew engaged in a camp dance unless they came upon 
them unawares.” 

“ That’s so,” reiterated Mr. Seavey. “ You have 
just witnessed a sight not often vouchsafed to women.” 

“ I have been a victim of circumstances,” explained 
Norman, who had recovered some degree of self- 
possession. “ I was indiscreet enough to admit that 
I drummed a little on the banjo, never dreaming that 
there was one in the camp, and the first thing I knew 
they had provided an instrument and drafted me into 
service.” 

“ And I think they are to be congratulated on their 
discovery,” declared Miss Seavey, with enthusiasm. 
“ I wouldn’t have missed this performance for any- 
thing.” 

“ You certainly have no reason to feel ashamed of 
your part in it,” added her father, heartily. “ Really, 
you play exceedingly well.” 

“ Thank you,” said Norman. 

“ I don’t suppose there’s any way to get the men 
dancing again, is there ? ” asked Miss Seavey, regret- 
fully. 

“ No,” replied Eustace, with conviction. “ You 
couldn’t drag them onto that floor with an ox-team.” 

“ But surely you’ll play one or two more selections 
for us,” pleaded the young lady. 


142 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Please do, Mr. Carver,” added Mrs. Hardy. 

“ Well, if you think you can stand this atmosphere,” 
replied Norman. 

“ It is a trifle able-bodied,” admitted Mr. Seavey. 

“ Oh, don’t you worry about us,” interposed the 
young lady, eagerly. “ We’d just love to hear you.” 

The members of the party seated themselves in some 
rude chairs — the only ones the camp boasted — which 
several of the men had hastened to bring from the 
beaver house, while Norman picked up the banjo and 
resumed his place on the deacon seat. Several selec- 
tions were played in quick succession — the members 
of the crew preserving a solemn and decorous silence. 

“We are certainly very much indebted to you, Mr. 
Carver,” said Miss Seavey, as she bade Norman good- 
night, “ and we should be very glad to have you take 
breakfast with us in the morning.” 

“ Thank you,” replied Norman, “ I shall be pleased 
to.” 

Following the departure of their guests, the mem- 
bers of the crew began to retire for the night. Blankets 
were smoothed out, and, one after another, the weary 
men removed their moccasins, and went to bed fully 
dressed and in their stockings. 

“ Here is our nest,” said Fred Warner, as he led 
Norman to a stall-like lower bunk which stood at right 
angles with the big one which extended across the end 
of the camp. “ One thing is certain,” he added : 
“ This bedding is fairly clean, for I washed it out last 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 143 


Sunday. Some of it in this camp hasn’t seen water 
all winter.” 

Norman crawled in under the blankets beside his 
companion, in some doubt as to his prospects for sleep. 
Already the discordant snores, and heavy, regular 
breathing of some of the men, showed that they were 
enjoying the deep and dreamless slumber that comes 
to wearied bodies. 

A moment later Billy Eustace entered the camp. 
“ Nine o’clock,” he announced; and going about the 
room, he blew out the lights, leaving the camp envel- 
oped in darkness. 

“My! but this is hot,” whispered Norman to Fred 
Warner, as he rolled about on his bough bed in a vain 
endeavor to find a spot where one unruly and persistent 
bough would not invade his backbone. 

“ I’ll fix that,” rejoined Fred, and, suiting the action 
to the word, he reached his hand over his head, and 
a moment later Norman felt a grateful current of cool, 
fresh air pouring into the bunk. 

“ Where does that come from ? ” he whispered. 

“ Sh-h-h,” warned Fred. “ I took the opportunity 
when the men were gone to bore a two-inch auger- 
hole through the side of the camp. I close it up with 
a plug and hang an old cap over it in the daytime.” 

“ Aren’t you afraid of getting cold ? ” 

“ No. Colds are very rare in the woods, and sore 
throats are practically unknown. Let me know when 
you get enough, and I’ll close the ventilator.” 


i44 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


It seemed to Norman as if a thousand weird and 
mournful voices were sighing among the big, wind- 
swept trees. Once he sat bolt upright when an omi- 
nous hoot echoed through the forest; but lay back 
again in disgust when Fred explained to him that it 
was only an owl. The sound of some animal racing 
about on top of the camp aroused him again just as 
he was dozing off to sleep. 

“ What’s that ? ” he demanded, nervously, giving 
his bunk-mate a dig in the ribs. 

“ It’s a squirrel,” whispered Fred, sleepily. “ They 
sound as big as wildcats when they get on a roof at 
night.” 

Once more Norman was finding his way to dream- 
land when he was aroused by the dolorous creaking of 
the camp door which opened to admit a belated team- 
ster. He had not noticed its failings during the day; 
but now it seemed suddenly vocal with all the mourn- 
ful spirits of the wilderness. It was an uncanny 
thought; but in spite of it, tired nature finally asserted 
itself, and Norman dropped as fast asleep as any of 
the crew. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE FELLING OF THE HEMLOCK 

Norman was awakened the following morning by 
P'red Warner’s voice shouting “Five o’clock! Turn 
ou-u-u-u-t ! ” at the camp door. 

Instantly the camp was all commotion. The men, 
yawning and stretching, came crawling out of the 
bunks to find places on the deacon seats around the 
big stove, in which a fire, kindled by the cookee, was 
already under good headway. Lamps were lighted, 
for it was still dark; leggings and moccasins were put 
on, and the members of the crew gathered about the 
log sink for their morning ablutions. The camp door 
creaked dismally on its wooden hinges, as it was opened 
and shut by men going and coming. Teamsters, who 
had risen an hour earlier to feed and care for their 
horses at the hovels, came straggling back into the 
camp with lanterns on their arms, rough jokes and 
repartee were interchanged, and the whole scene was 
suddenly transformed into one vibrant with life and 
animation. 

It seemed to Norman that he had been asleep for 
only a few minutes, and he found some difficulty in 
persuading himself that it was really morning. He was 
i45 


146 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


astonished, too, that Fred Warner had been able to get 
up and dress without his knowing it. The rough but 
hearty salutations of the men convinced him that his 
last evening’s performance had put him upon a friendly 
footing with the crew. Seated upon the deacon seat, 
he slowly resumed his heavy footwear, laced up his 
moccasins, and watched with eager interest the quick, 
methodical movements of the men. In a few minutes 
the last of them had gone trooping away to breakfast, 
leaving him the sole occupant of the camp. He would 
have followed the crew into the cook’s quarters, but 
remembered in time his acceptance of Miss Seavey’s 
invitation to form one of her party at breakfast. 

Fortunately, Fred Warner had been ^thoughtful 
enough the night before to bring in his canvas extender 
from the beaver house, and from it Norman provided 
himself with a towel and a cake of soap. Thus pro- 
vided, the icy water of the big wooden pail lost some 
of its terrors, and he completed his toilet in a very 
leisurely manner, and with some degree of satisfaction. 
Following this, he spent some time in reading, by the 
light of the lantern, one of the newspapers which had 
been brought into camp by Vede Pelotte. 

The first faint glimmer of dawn was just appearing 
when he passed out through the dingle to expand his 
lungs with long draughts of the crisp, balsam-laden 
air, and drink in the glory of the morning. Nearby 
a red-crested woodpecker was industriously pounding 
a tattoo upon the side of a tall stub. Merry little 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 147 


chickadees sounded their cheery notes from the tall 
spruces and hemlocks, while a dozen pairs of Canada 
jays, perched familiarly near, impatiently scolded in 
noisy “ Ca-ca-ca’s ” because the cook had not provided 
them with the morning’s waste. 

So absorbed was Norman in the scene before him 
that he did not notice the approach of Billy Eustace, 
until he was aroused by the sound of his voice. 

“ Good-morning ! ” called the camp boss, cordially. 

“Good-morning!” responded Norman. 

“Well, how did you rest?” 

“ Oh, very well, thank you.” 

“ See here, Carver,” continued the boss, coming 
close to him, and dropping his voice to a confidential 
tone, “ I’m in a scrape, and you must help me out 
of it.” 

“A scrape?” repeated Norman, interrogatively. 

“Yes. I was going out cruising to-day — ” 

“ Cruising?” interposed Norman, in some bewilder- 
ment. 

“ Yes. Hunting up new timber for cutting,” 
explained the boss, a little impatiently ; “ but you see, 
confound it all! I’ve got these women on my hands, 
an’ right between you an’ me, Carver, I don’t think 
the Lord ever intended me for a ladies’ man.” 

“ Nor me, either,” declared Norman, hastily. 

“ Oh, you’ll do. You’ve had the training for it,” 
insisted the boss, confidently. “ I reckon you city 
chaps know just how to manage these things.” 


148 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Not always,” protested Norman. 

“ Well, I count myself mighty lucky to have you 
around at this time — an’ I want you to give your 
whole time to-day to beauin’ them girls round.” 

“ My knowledge of lumber-camps and logging 
operations is so extensive that they can scarcely fail 
to find me entertaining, if not instructive.” 

Eustace scratched the back of his head, in evident 
perplexity. 

“ That’s so,” he admitted, ruefully. “ Darn it all, 
they’ll be sure t’ ask questions, an’ Mrs. Hardy knows 
too much about the business to be bluffed. Well,” he 
added, with a sigh, “ I s’pose we’re in for it. You 
just lead off and steer the conversation, an’ I’ll go 
along as the Bureau of Information.” 

The conversation was interrupted at this point by 
the men, who came laughing and joking out of the 
cook’s camp. The teamsters, fully dressed and carry- 
ing big buckets containing the noon lunch, hurried 
away to the hovels to harness their horses to the bob- 
sleds, used in logging. Some of the men paused in 
the dingle to light their pipes, while others hurried to 
the sleeping-quarters for their mackinaws and mittens. 

Soon the wood-roads were resounding with the 
jangle of harness-bells, and the rough repartee of the 
loggers, as the heavy skeleton sleds, crowded with 
men, made their way into the forest. 

Jim Benner and Jud Skinner lingered behind the 
others for a word with Norman. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 149 


“ Tell ye what, youngster/' said the veteran woods- 
man, in a confidential tone, “ you’re liable t’ hev a little 
spare time on your hands. I reckon es how it might 
pay ye t’ tap a few of these tall spruces round th’ 
clearin’ ’n’ git some spruce gum.- It’s wuth a dollar 
’n’ a half a pound in th’ city.” 

“ Thank you,” responded Norman, guardedly. The 
project appeared to be a very practical one; but he 
was determined not to commit himself on any propo- 
sition. 

“Don’t mention it!” replied Jim, heartily, as he 
hurried away to the hovel. 

“ Say, Carver,” said Skinner, in a low tone, when 
Benner was out of hearing. “ I hope ye ain’t said 
nothin’ ’bout thet affair et Gamewood sidin’.” 

“ Not a word.” 

“ An’ ye won’t?” 

“ No.” 

“ Carver, you’re a brick,” declared Skinner, with 
emphasis. He started toward the hovels ; then paused, 
and, casting a cautious glance about the clearing, 
walked quickly back. “ Say,” he whispered, with an 
air of mystery, coming close to Norman, “ if ye decide 
t’ tap them spruces, ye needn’t bother t’ bore new holes. 
You’ll find a plenty of old ones a greenhorn made last 
fall.” 

“ You’re a brick yourself, Skinner,” declared Nor- 
man, gratefully, as an appreciation of the situation 
dawned upon him. 


i5o ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ One good turn deserves another,” laughed Skin- 
ner, over his shoulder, as he hurried after the men. 

A moment later Mr. Seavey and the ladies appeared, 
escorted by Billy Eustace; and the party went in to 
breakfast, where the cook and cookee, clad in clean 
white canvas aprons, had an extra fine spread awaiting 
them. Baked beans, cooked in a “ bean-hole,” and 
smoking hot from the ground ; cream of tartar biscuits, 
fresh from the oven; a ball of genuine butter; beef- 
steak; baked potatoes; doughnuts; cranberry sauce, 
and hot tea, constituted the bill of fare. 

Felix Lamarre, the camp cook, prided himself on 
his culinary skill, which was really of no mean order; 
and his chest expanded visibly at the warm compli- 
ments paid him by the ladies. 

“ Really,” declared Miss Margie, enthusiastically, 
“ I’ve eaten at some fairly pretentious hotels that 
didn’t begin to set so good a table.” 

“ Excuse to me, mamzelle,” said Felix, deprecatingly, 
“ I do me de bes’ I can wit’ de proveesion w’at I 
have.” 

“ You do wonderfully well,” declared Miss Margie. 
“ I think I shall have to come up here when I can stay 
longer, and have you teach me how to cook.” 

“ It geev’ me pleasir’ for have you, but I gass I ban 
one for tak’ de lesson,” protested the cook. 

“No,” returned the young lady, decidedly; “what 
you could show me about cooking would fill a very big 
book. What is your part, Mr. Warner ? ” she added, 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 151 


turning with a smile to Fred Warner, who was pour- 
ing a dipper of tea for her. 

“ Oh, I wash the dishes, wait on the table, and take 
care of the silverware,” responded Fred, solemnly, a 
reference to the primitive tableware that evoked a 
general laugh. 

“ It doesn’t make any difference what you eat things 
out of, so long as they’re good,” asserted Miss Seavey, 
with conviction. 

“ And you have a woods appetite,” added Nor- 
man. 

“ That is really important,” admitted Miss Seavey ; 
“ but you know timber and appetites are our two great 
crops in this section.” 

“ I thought they were men and women,” laughed 
Norman. 

“ Well, we do pride ourselves on our native talent, 
especially our dancers.” 

“ She made me take her over to the hall to a French 
dance the other night,” said Mr. Seavey. 

“And did you dance?” inquired Norman, turning 
to Miss Margie. 

“No. I couldn’t get papa to take me on, and I 
wasn’t acquainted with any of the other young gentle- 
men.” 

“ Thanks for your delicate compliment,” said Mr. 
Seavey, lightly. 

“What do they dance?” inquired Norman, with 
interest. 


152 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Oh, the waltz, the polka, the two-step — all the 
up-to-date dances,” responded Miss Margie. 

“Where did they learn them?” asked Norman, 
wonderingly. 

“ They never had to learn them,” declared Miss 
Margie. “ The French people are born dancers, with 
perfect time, and native grace of movement.” 

“ They are a people with lots of good points,” added 
Mr. Seavey. 

So cordial and unaffected was Miss Margie, that the 
meal, which Norman had dreaded as something of an 
ordeal, passed off very pleasantly. 

“ I have planned to visit the yards and landings with 
Mr. Collins,” remarked Mr. Seavey, as they rose from 
the table. “We have arranged to take our dinners 
in the woods, so that it is not likely that I shall see 
you again until supper-time. I feel, however, that I 
shall leave you in good hands.” 

“ And where is Mr. Collins ? ” demanded Miss 
Margie. 

“ Oh, he was off before daylight, and I presume he 
has scaled two or three yards by this time. He prom- 
ised to come back and pick me up at half past seven; 
so I presume he may be waiting for me. Are those 
lunches ready, Felix?” 

“ Rat here, M’sieu Seavey,” replied the cook, hand- 
ing him a six-quart lard-pail. 

“ Well, good-by till we meet again,” and with a 
cheery smile Mr. Seavey left the camp. A few min- 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 153 


utes later, as the rest of the party emerged from the 
dingle, they saw him striding up a wood-road in com- 
pany with Mr. Collins. 

“Well, ladies, what shall the programme be?” 
inquired Eustace, as they paused by the door of the 
beaver house. 

“ How far shall we have to go to see a crew at work 
in the woods ? ” asked Miss Margie. 

“ One of our crews is yarding about a mile from 
here.” 

“ Just a good little walk,” declared Miss Seavey. 
“ Let’s go and see them. You don’t mind, do you, 
Mr. Carver ? ” 

“ Not at all,” said Norman. “ It will give me a 
chance to ask a good many foolish questions.” 

“ Well, if there are any you overlook I’ll be sure to 
ask them,” declared Miss Margie. 

“ You see, Mr. Eustace, they are going to make a 
martyr out of you,” said Mrs. Hardy, with a laugh. 

“ Well, I’ll try to act the part,” returned Eustace, 
with an air of resignation.” 

It was a beautiful winter day, and as they made 
their way along the wood-road that wound its course 
among the tall evergreens, Norman was not insensible 
to the charm of his fair young companion; and soon 
the two were somewhat in advance of the others, 
laughing and chatting gaily, to the great satisfaction 
of Billy Eustace. 

Presently they heard* the measured and rasping 


i 5 4 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


shriek of a cross-cut saw, followed by a shout of 
“ Under ! ” and the rushing, roaring sound of a falling 
tree, as it went crashing and thundering down upon 
the smaller growth beneath. A moment later they 
came upon a large pile of logs by the roadside. 

“ Here’s the yard,” announced Eustace. “ There’s 
over four hundred logs in it already.” 

Norman looked at the tall pile, nearly twice his 
height, in wonder and perplexity. 

“ How do they get them up there ? ” he asked. 

“ They parbuckle ’em,” responded Eustace. 

Norman shook his head. 

“ That’s Greek to me,” he confessed. 

“ Do you see those smaller logs that extend from 
the top of the pile to the ground, forming an incline ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, those are called skids, as are also the small 
logs which run transversely between each layer of 
larger ones and are used to pile them on. By means 
of notches cut in these skids, the decks, or layers of 
logs that are piled upon them, are prevented from roll- 
ing and rendered as firm as a house. Those inclined 
skids make a roadway up which the big logs are rolled 
to the top of the pile. See that big chain on the front 
of the pile? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, you notice that its ends pass up over the 
top log — one on one side of the pile and one on the 
other side — and are securely fastened to the upper 



Over four hundred logs in it already. — Page 154. 















































































































































































































































ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 155 


end of the inclined skids. This, as you see, makes a 
loop of the chain. When a log is dragged in to be 
piled this loop is passed under it. A slip or grab-link 
is then fastened to the middle link of the loop. This 
is easily done, for the upper part of the slip-link is 
round, enabling it to be passed readily along the chain. 
The lower part, or throat, however, is narrow and 
oblong, and when it is drawn up on a chain-link it holds 
just there. That’s why they call it a ‘ grab-link.’ Do 
you see that iron pulley fastened to the tree back of 
the pile, with the wire cable running through it ? ” 

“ I noticed that,” said Norman. 

“ Well, that cable has a hook on each end of it. 
When a log is to be piled on the yard, it is first hauled 
to the foot of two inclined skids at the front of the 
pile ; then the loop, or, as it is called, the decking chain, 
is passed under and over it from the front. The grab- 
link is then set up exactly midway of the loop ; one end 
of the wire cable is hooked into the top of this grab- 
link and the other end to the ring of a whiffletree, and 
a horse hauling on the cable pulls the log up the 
inclined skids as easily as if it were a lead-pencil.” 

“ But there is a second pulley on the wire cable,” 
said Norman. 

“ Yes. That’s merely to increase the purchase, on 
the principle of the tackle-and-fall. The parbuckle is 
a very convenient way of handling big logs in the 
woods, not merely in yarding them, but also in loading 
them onto the sleds when there is a lower layer, or 


156 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


deck load, and it is necessary to take the upper logs 
from the ground. The parbuckle is also used to roll 
the upper logs into place in building our logging- 
camps.” 

Even as Eustace was speaking, a heavy team of bay 
Percherons came out from the near-by clump of tall 
trees in which the sawyers were at work, dragging 
a big spruce log. This was unloaded at the foot of 
the inclined skids and rolled over the loop of the big 
decking-chain, one end of the wire cable was hooked 
into the slip-link and the other into the whiffletree of 
one of the horses, which had been detached from his 
mate for this work. As the powerful bay moved for- 
ward at the command of his teamster, the big log, 
cradled in the loop of the chain, rolled rapidly up the 
inclined skids to the top of the pile. So easily had this 
seemingly difficult task been performed, that Norman 
and the ladies were at a loss to express their surprise 
and admiration. 

“ You must not suppose that all the logs on a yard 
are put in place with a parbuckle,’’ said Eustace; 
“ that’s only used on the upper layers. When the men 
start the yard and the incline of the skids running from 
the end is an easy one, it is full quicker to roll the logs 
into place with peaveys.” 

“What is a peavey?” asked Norman. 

“ Well, there are a couple of them leaning against 
the end of that yard. They are called peaveys after 
the name of the man who invented them — and they 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 157 


play a mighty important part in logging-operations.” 

Norman picked up one of the wooden bars, or levers, 
which Eustace indicated, and examined it carefully. 
It was about five feet long and larger at the lower end, 
where it was fitted with a steel pike and socket. To 
the upper end of this socket was attached a curved 
steel hook, working easily on the bolt that hinged it 
in place, and furnishing an ideal device for rolling 
logs. 

“ Perhaps you’d like to see a tree felled,” suggested 
Eustace, turning to Miss Seavey. 

“ Oh, I should just love to!” was the prompt 
response. 

“ Well, let’s take that big hemlock there beside the 
road. Tell the boys to come out here,” he called to 
the teamster, who was driving his horses back to the 
cutting. 

A moment later, five woodsmen put in an appearance, 
one of whom carried a long cross-cut saw. 

“ Take down that hemlock,” ordered the boss. 

“ Shall we lay him up the road ? ” asked the short, 
thick-set man with the saw. 

“ Yes.” 

Even as he spoke two men were busy with their 
axes, cutting away the bushes and underbrush that 
grew beneath the big tree. 

When their efforts had provided a working space 
at the foot of the tree, the sawyer’s assistant, a tall, 
wiry man, stepped up to the tree and began cutting a 


158 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


notch in its big trunk from the side on which it was 
planned to have it fall. Norman watched with admi- 
ration his full, free swing of the axe, and the precision 
with which its sharp edge sank into the soft wood, 
making the great chips fly and leaving the kerf almost 
as smooth as if it had been sawed and sandpapered. 

Presently, the chopper paused and wiped his per- 
spiring brow with a red bandanna handkerchief of 
portentous size. 

“ I gass dat feex heem,” he said. “ Lay heem rat 
down between dem two fir-tree.” 

He passed to the opposite side of the tree. Laying 
down his axe, he took one handle of the long cross-cut 
saw and began, with the assistance of his companion, 
to draw its sharp teeth back and forth across the 
rough trunk, filling the forest with its shrill and rasp- 
ing plaint. 

“ Oh, how that grates on my nerves ! ” exclaimed 
Miss Margie, pressing her gloved forefingers into her 
ears. 

“ It is a bit spiteful,” admitted Norman. 

When the cutting portion of the blade had passed 
from sight a short distance in the trunk of the tree, 
the sawyers paused, removed one of the handles, and 
drew the long blade from the kerf, or channel, which 
it had cut for itself. Iron wedges were then driven 
into the outer edge of the cut, the saw was pushed 
back into its self-made slot, and the work went steadily 
and rapidly forward again. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 159 


Presently the big tree began to waver. The saw 
was withdrawn and the wedges driven sharply home. 
For a moment the big forest monarch tottered upon 
its stump, and then, with a mighty crash, went thun- 
dering down into the cushioning snow, precisely where 
the undercutter had planned for it to fall. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE REAPPEARANCE OF “ CLOUTER ” KELTY. 

The moment the giant tree struck the ground the 
sled-tender began cutting away its big limbs, with a 
rapidity that was surprising to Norman and Miss Sea- 
vey, who had never before seen this work performed. 
In a short time he had cleared the trunk to the point 
where it was to be cut off. Standing on top of it, 
he accomplished this task with surprising quickness 
and ease, leaving the end of the big log severed from 
the bushy top almost as evenly as if it had been cut 
off with a saw. 

There had been no false motions, no waste of power, 
in the clean, free swing of the axe, whose sharp blade 
buried itself again and again in the soft wood at the 
precise spot aimed at. 

“ Would you care to wait and see this log yarded? ” 
asked Eustace, turning to Miss Margie. 

“ No. I think we’ve seen enough,” returned the 
young lady. “ O my ! ” she exclaimed abruptly, as 
she caught sight of a big smoke-grimed teapot hung 
upon a charred horizontal pole, the ends of which were 
suspended upon crotched sticks. Beneath was a big 
hole in the snow, half filled with ashes and charcoal, 
160 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 161 


which showed where fires for making tea had formerly- 
burned. 

“ That’s where the men make their tea at noon,” 
returned Eustace. “ I’ve been having Fred Warner 
bring the lunches hot from the camp with this partic- 
ular crew, but to-day I let the men take them along 
with them in the morning.” 

“ You see we are very troublesome people,” said 
Miss Margie, turning to Mrs. Hardy. “ No doubt 
Mr. Eustace is wishing this very minute that we’d go 
home, and let matters here resume the even tenor of 
their way.” 

“ Why — you — you mustn’t think that,” stam- 
mered Eustace, in some confusion. 

“ Where are they ? ” demanded Miss Margie, ignor- 
ing his disclaimer. 

“ What ? ” asked Eustace, in some bewilderment. 

“ The men’s lunches.” 

“ Oh,” responded the boss, with a look of relief. 
“ They’re buried in the snow at the back of the fire- 
hole.” 

“ Buried in the snow ! What for ? ” 

“To keep the food from freezing.” 

“ And will that prevent it ? ” 

“ Generally, not always.” 

“ But,” persisted Miss Margie, a little incredulously, 
“ most of those men are working in their shirt 
sleeves.” 

“ They’ll be glad enough to put on their sweaters 


1 62 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


and mackinaws when they stop work for lunch,” 
returned Eustace. 

“ You wouldn’t care to take off that fur coat, would 
you?” asked Mrs. Hardy. 

“ No,” admitted Miss Margie; “ but, really, it makes 
the rest of us look sort of namby-pamby to see the way 
these men defy the cold.” 

“ Let’s take a last look at this hemlock,” said Nor- 
man, as they turned down the wood-road in the direc- 
tion of the camp. 

“ We didn’t use to value those fellows very much 
for timber,” said Eustace. “ Men are going into the 
Maine woods every fall now and yarding hemlock logs 
that were cut originally for their bark. We have been 
mighty wasteful in our lumbering methods here in 
Maine in years past, and are very far from careful at 
the present time.” 

“ Cut down great trees like that, simply to get their 
bark?” cried Norman, in amazement. “ What did 
they do with it?” 

“ Sold it to tanneries,” replied Eustace. “ The hem- 
lock-bark business is still an important Maine indus- 
try.” 

“ And what do they do with it there ? ” 

“ Use it for tanning hides in the manufacture of 
leather.” 

“ And they paid no attention to the lumber after 
they’d peeled off the bark?” questioned Norman, 
incredulously. 



The crew at lunch. — Page 162 



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ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 163 


“ Very little until within comparatively recent years. 
The trees were cut and peeled in summer, when the 
bark comes off easily. The bark was piled up for 
winter hauling, and the trees left on the ground where 
they fell, to become buried and lost later on in the 
deep snows. Now most operators yard the logs before 
snow falls, for the market will take care of all the 
hemlock lumber the sawmills can turn out, and at good 
prices.” 

“ The life of a tree doesn’t count very much, I fancy, 
with woodsmen,” observed Miss Margie. 

“Not at all,” conceded Eustace; “and, in spite of 
all our efforts to prevent it, a great many valuable 
young trees are needlessly destroyed by our crews. 
Ah — ” he added, abruptly, stopping by the side of 
a big, seamy spruce, “ here’s a gum tree.” 

“ A gum tree — is that a special kind ? ” asked 
Norman. 

“ It’s one that has seen its troubles,” answered Eus- 
tace, enigmatically. “ I suppose,” he added, with a 
sudden gleam of comprehension, “ some of the camp 
jokers have tried to get you to tap for gum.” 

“ One of them suggested it,” admitted .Norman, a 
trifle red in the face. 

“ I’ll bet a dollar it was Jim Benner,” declared the 
boss, with a laugh. “ You’ll have to fight shy of him, 
Carver. McMurray’s going to send me a man to take 
his place in the yarding crew, and I’m going to use 
him at the camp to tend landing. So you’re liable to 


164 all among the loggers 


see considerable of him. That old scamp wouldn’t 
hesitate to play practical jokes on his own grandmother. 
He had a young feller tapping spruce trees all ’round 
the camp clearing last fall.” 

“ I’d heard of that,” said Norman. 

“ I don’t believe you’d have acted on his suggestion 
if you hadn’t,” declared Miss Margie, with conviction. 

Norman gave her a grateful smile. 

“ I’m certainly not going to be precipitate about 
engaging in new ventures,” he said. 

“ Spruce gum,” declared Eustace, “ is really the 
healing salve of the spruce tree. Let a heavy wind, 
or the too rapid warming of a frosty tree by a rising 
March sun, open up a seam in its trunk, or a woods- 
man’s axe blaze its side, and Nature at once begins 
repair work by covering it with a soft, resinous gum. 
This is usually a work of four or five years. After 
that the gum gradually hardens in the sun, often stand- 
ing out in lumps or nodules, and is then ready for the 
picker. You see the gum on this tree exudes from 
this seam running up the trunk. The men have gath- 
ered all the best of it that was within reach. Further 
up the trunk you will see some clear lumps. That is 
called ‘blister gum,’ and commands about $1.50 a 
pound in the market. This gum on the side, covered 
largely with moss and bark, is seam gum, which usually 
brings about half as much.” 

“ O my ! ” exclaimed Miss Margie, looking up the 
tall trunk in comic despair ; “ so near, and yet so far ! ” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 165 


“ You mustn’t get discouraged,” admonished Eus- 
tace, lightly. “ Yankee ingenuity is equal to all emer- 
gencies. It has solved many a worse problem than 
that.” 

Taking a tiny axe from his belt, he proceeded to 
cut down a tall, slim spruce. “ There goes a future 
sawlog,” he commented, grimly, as it fell to the 
ground. When he had carefully trimmed the few 
limbs from the top of this pole, Eustace produced and 
opened a big hunting-knife. The handle of this, made 
from a deer’s foot, he tied firmly to one end of the 
pole with a piece of stout twine which he had carried 
in his pocket. He and Norman then spread their 
mackinaws upon the snow at the foot of the seam, 
and in a short time both were covered with lumps and 
slivers of gum which Eustace cut away with his impro- 
vised spear. 

“ Aren’t we a sight ! ” was Miss Margie’s comment, 
as the party resumed their walk to the camp, each one 
busily engaged in chewing a big cud of the aromatic 
gum. 

“ It’s the style up here,” laughed Mrs. Hardy. 
“ Besides, it’s good for the digestion.” 

“ I shall certainly need it, then, when I get another 
chance at those baked beans,” declared Norman. 

They had the cook’s camp all to themselves that 
noon, and it was evident that Felix Lamarre and Fred 
Warner had made all possible preparations for their 
comfort. A brisk fire burned in the beaver house, 


1 66 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


which had been put in apple-pie order, and when they 
sat before the rude table at dinner, the generous fare 
with which it was loaded made them almost forget the 
primitive character of the service. 

Miss Seavey delighted the heart of the smiling and 
affable Felix by declaring that his mince pies were the 
finest she had ever tasted. 

After dinner the team which had conveyed Mr. 
Seavey and the ladies to Camp 4 was again brought 
into use; and Billy Eustace, acting as driver, and 
accompanied by Norman, showed his fair visitors the 
work which was being carried on by the members of 
his crew — the extent and magnitude of which called 
forth their warmest praise. 

Mr. Collins and Mr. Seavey rejoined the party at 
supper that evening; and Norman, who had begun to 
appreciate somewhat the conditions under which lum- 
bering operations were conducted, found their con- 
versation both instructive and interesting. The ladies 
were in the best of spirits, and the meal passed off 
most pleasantly. Before Norman bade them good- 
night, to return to his quarters in the men’s camp, 
Miss Margie, who was evidently enjoying her outing, 
had exacted a promise from him to take breakfast with 
her party in the morning. 

Somehow the big camp seemed less repellent to 
Norman than it had the evening before; not because 
its atmosphere was any the less overheated, or its 
steamy odors any the less oppressive, but rather because 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 167 


he had grown slightly familiar with these conditions, 
and knew, moreover, from the hearty greetings of the 
men, that he was on a friendly footing with them. 

He was about to take his place on one of the deacon 
seats before the side bunks, when, glancing across the 
camp to the group of men on the opposite seat, he 
caught sight of a face that held his eyes in a fascinated 
stare, and filled his heart with a sudden fear. Sitting 
next to Jim Benner was a newcomer — a man with 
such repulsive features that even some of the men in 
the crew, little given as woodsmen are to being critical 
in the matter of personal appearance, could not refrain 
from showing their aversion. 

One look at the thick-set frame, the bullet-shaped 
head, the sullen mouth with its protruding lower jaw, 
the black, furtive eyes, and the livid red scar extending 
from above the right eye into the scalp, was sufficient 
to reveal to Norman the identity of the newcomer. 
He was none other than “ Clouter ” Kelty, the escaped 
thief and murderer! For a moment the impulse was 
strong upon Norman to stand out among the men and 
tell them who their new comrade really was, and the 
infamous record that lay behind him ; but he refrained. 
It was evident that Kelty did not recognize him in his 
new garb and amid his new surroundings; for he 
merely gave him a casual glance upon his entrance, 
and went on puffing serenely at the new corncob pipe 
he was smoking. 

“ You say that rich old sport from New York has 


1 68 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


got a joint up there ?” he said to Pete Bedotte, con- 
tinuing his conversation with the big Frenchman. 

“ Yass. Wan nice leetle cabane. He feexed up jus’ 
lak wan belle maison, rug in floor, beeg fireplace on 
cornerre, nice spreeng bed — firs’ rat’ chair for seet 
on. Monjee! De nice t’ing w’at he have in teen can 
for eat mak’ you waterre on top you mout’ ! ” 

“ Right on the shore of Deer Trail pond, you say? ” 

“ Yass.” 

“ It must be a great stopping place for landlookers. 
I should think you lumberjacks would go up there 
Sundays to fish through the ice and enjoy his Nibs’ 
layout.” 

“ We can’t do dat. Hees door ban fas’ wit’ iron 
strap on padlock.” 

“ Oh, I see,” responded Kelty, carelessly. 

A number of the crew had removed their pipes from 
their mouths, and were eyeing the newcomer curiously. 

“ I reckon you’ve logged in Wisconsin or Michigan,” 
said old Jim Benner, dryly. 

This suggestion had a startling effect upon Kelty. 
He paled visibly, and, jumping to his feet, cast a quick 
suspicious glance about him. 

‘‘You — you lie!” he gasped, hotly. 

In a moment Benner was on his feet, and advanced 
upon the newcomer menacingly. 

“ ‘ Lie ’ is a fightin’-word in this ’ere region,” he 
said, with ominous coolness. “ I reckon ye’d better 
take thet back.” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 169 


“ Swat him, Jim ! ” 

“ Jomp on hees collar re ! ” 

“ Soak eet on heem ! ” 

“ Leeft heem wan ! ” 

“ He ban too beeg on hees pants ! ” 

These and other shouts of encouragement plainly 
showed the sympathy of the crew, and suggested to 
the wrathful Kelty the advisability of caution. 

“ I — I meant you were mistaken,” he said, in a 
low voice, tense with suppressed passion. 

“ Thet sounds better,” said Benner, in a mollified 
tone, resuming his seat. “ ’most any on us is liable 
to be mistook; but we don’t stan’ fer liars up here at 
Camp 4 — do we, boys ? ” 

“No! No! bat you life!” came in a chorus from 
the crew, who had gathered eagerly about Benner and 
Kelty, in the hopeful anticipation of a scrap. 

“ Now, stranger, you used words es is foreign to 
this ’ere gang — words we don’t hear up here in 
Maine, ’cept when some feller comes back from the 
Lake States ’n’ fetches ’em along with ’im. I lum- 
bered one winter myself out in Wisconsin, ’n’ I know 
what I’m a-talkin’ ’bout. We’ve got lots of pros- 
pectors ’n’ cruisers here in Maine; but no landlookers. 
We also hev some o’ the best loggers ’n’ th’ world in 
our woods-crews, but no lumberjacks.” 

“ Ba cripe, dat ban jus’ so,” corroborated big Pete 
Bedotte. “ You hav’ go on west for fin’ dem fellaire.” 
“ Well, I didn’t go there for them,” explained Kelty. 


i7o ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ I picked ’em up right here in Maine from a chum o’ 
mine who used to lumber in the west.” 

“ If thet’s the case,” said Benner, coolly, “ I don’t 
see what call you’ve got t’ be so durned tetchy 
erbout it.” 

“ I’ve known people to get rich and keep in good 
health by ’tending strictly to their own affairs,” 
growled Kelty. 

“ This pore critter ’pears t’ be sick,” interposed Ike 
Tapley, in his thin, nasal tones. “ Needs a little medi- 
cine, don’t he, boys?” 

" Sure t’ing ! Bat you life !” shouted the men, with 
enthusiasm. 

“ He won’t find it in the wangan,” declared Jim 
Benner, with emphasis. “ There’s only two kinds 
there. One’s for men , ’n’ t’other’s for hosses.” 

“ Dat leffs heem out,” said big Pete Bedotte. 

“ I don’t see why they ever wanted horse-medicine 
in this collection of long-ears,” sneered Kelty. 

“ Ba Joe! He call us long on de ear!” returned 
big Pete. “ He put de wan beeg insult on top dees 
gang. I gass he need heem som’ dat codfeesh plaster. 
W’at you t’ink, Skinner?” 

“ Great stuff,” responded Skinner, with a sickly grin, 
casting a hasty glance around at the crew, who, to his 
relief, were evidently oblivious to Pete’s harrowing 
reference. 

“ De codfeesh ! De codfeesh ! ” they shouted, in a 
tumult of enthusiasm. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 171 


There was a quick and concerted rush upon the 
astonished Kelty; the knife which he had attempted 
to draw was wrested from his grasp, and he was borne, 
struggling and cursing, to the wood-pile in front of 
the dingle, stretched over a big birch log, and treated 
to the same kind of chastisement that had been meted 
out to Jud Skinner at Gamewood siding. Jim Benner 
wielded the codfish; but no plea for mercy came from 
Kelty. He bore his punishment with the stoicism of 
an Indian. When released he hobbled painfully back 
to the camp, and crawled sullenly into the bunk which 
had been assigned him, and from which he did not 
emerge till the following morning. There was, how- 
ever, a baleful light in his eye that did not escape Nor- 
man’s notice. Knowing the desperate and vindictive 
character of the man, he felt satisfied that Kelty would 
never rest until he had revenged himself for the indig- 
nity he had suffered, particularly in the case of old 
Jim Benner, upon whom his eyes, bloodshot with pas- 
sion, rested with the most malevolent glare. 

“ We must put Benner on his guard against that 
man,” said Norman, as he and Fred Warner were 
stowing themselves away in their bunk for the night. 

“ Who — Pat Farrow?” 

“Is that what he calls himself?” 

“ Yes. I heard him tell Felix that was his name.” 

“ Well, Fred, you may depend upon it, he’s a des- 
perate and wicked fellow, who will bear the closest 
kind of watching.” 


172 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Just my opinion of him,” acquiesced Fred. 

“ Where is Harry McMurray, the walking boss ? ” 
inquired Norman. “ I thought, from what Mr. Col- 
lins told me, that he made his headquarters at this 
camp.” 

“ He does — in a way. He usually gets here some- 
time the last of the week and stays over Sunday. You 
see, he has five camps in his bunch, and he plans to 
make the rounds every week. Sometimes, however, 
he has to stop and cruise a day or two at some par- 
ticular camp where the timber is growing scarce along 
the established roads. Of course that cuts him short 
at some other camp. Still it will surprise you to see 
what a close tab he keeps on every part of the territory 
he operates.” 

“ Does he hire all the men ? ” 

“ Practically all. Occasionally one shows up in his 
absence, and is hired by the camp boss. He keeps a 
good many of his old men year after year. Then he 
gets new ones through an agency in Bangor, that is 
supplied in part from an agency in Boston. These 
city fellows don’t make very good loggers, though, 
and Harry doesn’t calculate to get any more of them 
than he can help, unless they come with the recom- 
mendation of former logging experience.” 

“ I suppose I shall be a cross to him,” said Norman, 
soberly. 

“ I think not,” returned Fred, confidently. “ You’ve 
had the education to succeed in your part of the work. 




























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“‘Lie’ is a fightin’-word in this ’ere region.” — Page 168. 



ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 173 


I should have liked a clerk’s job myself if I’d had 
schooling enough to tackle it; but I’ve had a mighty 
slim chance in that direction. You see, father died 
when I was only ten years old, leaving his farm only 
about half cleared. I’ve had to scratch pretty hard 
since that time to help mother get a living. I have 
two younger brothers — one fifteen and one thirteen — 
and a little ten-year-old sister at home with mother. 
The boys are taking care of the stock, doing the chores, 
and all three are going to school this winter. I’m just 
bound they shall have a better show than I’ve had.” 

“ I should never have supposed you lacking in edu- 
cation, Fred,” returned Norman. “ You certainly use 
much better language than the men around you.” 

“ Oh, I’ve read quite a little — what chance I could 
get; but my handwriting is too bad, and I’m too shy 
on figures to do clerical work.” 

“ You’re bright enough to overcome that,” declared 
Norman, confidently. “ There’s more than one kind 
of education, Fred. I shall be glad to help you there 
for what you can help me in a hundred other ways.” 

“ I shall be a thousand times obliged to you if you 
will,” returned Fred, eagerly, “ although I don’t believe 
I shall ever be able to repay you.” 

“ The debt will be mostly on my side,” protested 
Norman, warmly. 

The conversation, which had been carried on in 
whispers, was brought to a close at this point, for both 
boys were growing drowsy. Strangely enough, Nor- 


i74 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


man failed to notice the various noises that had so dis- 
turbed him the previous night, and was soon sleeping 
as soundly as his companions. 


CHAPTER XIV 


NORMAN MEETS HARRY MCMURRAY 

It was a merry party that gathered about a table in 
the cook's camp the following morning, a full hour 
after the men had eaten and gone to their work. 

Mr. Seavey and the ladies were about to take their 
departure for home, having had, as Miss Margie 
expressed it, “ a perfectly lovely time." The viva- 
cious young lady was at her best, and Norman felt 
that the camp would seem decidedly lonesome when 
she and Mrs. Hardy were gone. He fancied, however, 
that he detected signs of positive relief in the rugged 
features of Billy Eustace, although the camp boss cor- 
dially invited both ladies to come again, when, snugly 
wrapped in heavy robes on the back seat of their long 
pung, they bade him good-by at parting. 

“ I’m very glad to have met you, Mr. Carver," said 
Miss Margie, “ and we shall hope to have you come 
and see us at Aerie Lake before you return to Boston." 

“ I certainly shall be delighted to come," said Nor- 
man, heartily. 

A moment later the party disappeared around a bend 
in the wood-road, and Norman followed Billy Eustace 
into the beaver house. 


i75 


176 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ This will be your home, now the women are gone/’ 
announced the boss. “ There are four of us here at 
present: Jim Benner, Ike Tapley, and one of the team- 
sters, Dan Peters, a Yankee who owns his own horses. 
That leaves us two vacant bunks : one for the walking 
foreman, or boss, and the other for a clerk. Mr. 
Collins has a bunk in the scalers’ camp; but he stays 
here a good part of the time and sleeps in Harry 
McMurray’s bunk. It’s considerably more sociable, 
especially when the stumpage scaler is away — although 
he really isn’t much company.” 

“ The stumpage scaler ? ” 

“Yes. Aaron Slowman, the fellow who scales for 
the landowners to determine how much timber is to 
be charged to us at stumpage rates. He’s usually the 
last fellow to bed at night, and the last one up in the 
morning. Hangs so close to his den that none of us 
see much of him. In fact he’s about as sociable as a 
clam, and not a bit more active than is absolutely neces- 
sary to hold down his job. I reckon he’s ‘ refreshed 
his memory,’ as the sayin’ is, more’n once from our 
man’s notes. Mr. Collins, you know, is the company’s 
scaler. His work is, of course, to some extent, a tab 
on the stumpage scaler’s return. Its chief value, how- 
ever, is to keep the company advised of the exact prog- 
ress it is making, in order that it may know how to 
make its plans to bring about the total cut it desires. 
Bring your dunnage in whenever you wish. You are 
to have that lower right-hand bunk,” he added. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 177 


“All alone ? ” 

“ Yes. Unless you invite some one to share it.” 

“Can I do that?” 

“ Sure, if you want to.” 

“ I’d like to have Fred Warner with me, if there 
wouldn’t be any objection.” 

“ Not in the least. Fred’s a good fellow. Bring 
him in if you want to.” 

“Thanks!” said Norman, warmly; “and now, Mr. 
Eustace, I’d like to get to work. I’ve felt like a loafer 
ever since I got here.” 

“ On the contrary, I feel as if you’d done the best 
job for me that you’ll do this winter. I was mighty 
lucky to have you at hand for it. Great Scott! but 
didn’t I sweat blood when I heard them women were 
coming ! ” 

“ And now for my duties.” 

“ Well, you are to keep the books, look after the 
beaver house, tend the wangan, and make yourself 
generally useful. Later on, we may break you in to 
filing saws.” 

“Filing saws!” exclaimed Norman, aghast at the 
suggestion. 

“ Yes. We’ll try you out at it later. You may be 
a failure at it, or, if you happen to have a little mechan- 
ical turn, you may make a crack-a-jack. Time will tell. 
While our men are hired here for particular jobs, they 
are all expected to fill in anywhere when opportunity 
affords.” 


178 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“The bookkeeping — ” began Norman, nervously. 

“ Won’t bother you a minute,” interposed Eustace. 
“ I’ve got it all up to date, worked it out the last two 
nights in the scaler’s camp. This,” he continued, 
producing a small book from the tobacco-box draw 
beneath the rough desk, “ is our time-book. In this 
I enter opposite each man’s name the time he com- 
menced work, and the wages he is to receive. He is 
checked up each day he works in those small squares 
opposite. If for any cause he doesn’t work, the time 
lost is duly noted. When he leaves we make up his 
time on what we call a time-slip, deducting any sum 
he may be owing the wangan. That time-slip is the 
same as a check. He can cash it at any of the stores 
or banks in the settlements.” 

“ I think I understand it,” said Norman. 

“ Just as easy as rollin’ off a log,” declared Eustace. 
“ This book,” he continued, “ is our record of the logs 
cut and yarded by each of the crews. I always post 
this once a fortnight. There’s a great rivalry among 
the crews, to see which one will make the best showing. 
We also keep in this book a record of the logs hauled 
to the landings by each of the various teamsters. 
We’ve only a couple of teams hauling to the landings 
now; but later on we shall also have the six teams that 
are now yarding. The contest will be red-hot then. 
None of the men want their teams to make a poor 
showing in comparison with the others. It’s a grand 
hustle all along the line.” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 179 


“ I guess I can manage this,” said Norman, after 
he had examined the book for a moment. 

“ This is the wangan, our camp store,” continued 
Eustace, unlocking one of the big chests which had 
attracted Norman’s attention when he first visited the 
beaver house. “ Here’s the book. You see it has an 
alphabetical index on the front. A separate account is 
kept with each man, which is crossed off when he 
leaves. Where we have clerks we usually keep part 
of the goods out on shelves; but here I’ve been obliged 
to be away so much that I have kept everything locked 
up in the chests. This chest is given over chiefly to 
Yankee notions and to tobacco, which is our principal 
article of trade. The other one contains the clothing. 
Here’s a set of keys for you. I always keep the wan- 
gan book, and the price book, locked up in this chest, 
and also the other books when I am absent from the 
camp for any length of time. We also have this stock 
book, in which you will have to enter all the supplies 
brought in by the tote-teams; it won’t be necessary, 
however, for you to be here all the time to check them 
off. The teamster will pass you in a list of each load 
he hauls. Well, I reckon that’s about all,” concluded 
Eustace. “We shall expect you to do an errand now 
and then, keep the beaver house tidied up, and lug an 
occasional pail of water from the lake for us.” 

“ Is there anything I can start in on right now ? ” 
asked Norman. 

“ Yes. Once a fortnight we copy off the record 


180 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


from our books on these printed blanks, and forward 
them, together with our requisitions for supplies, to 
the company’s main office in Bangor. If it is some- 
thing we’re in a special rush for we send our requi- 
sition to Mr. Seavey at Aerie Lake, and he supplies 
us from the mill store. These reports and requisitions 
are due to go forward Monday, so you may copy them 
off to-day. I must get out and do some cruising. If 
you get stuck on anything, lay it aside and I’ll help 
you straighten it out this evening.” 

“ By the way, who keeps these log records ? ” asked 
Norman. 

“ The tenders on the yards and landings. They 
hand them in every evening. Now I must leave you. 
Take your time, and if there’s anything that bothers 
you let it wait,” and taking down a pair of snow-shoes 
that hung on a nail above the door, Eustace hurried 
out of the camp. 

Perched upon his high stool, Norman gave himself 
steadily to the task before him. The bookkeeping was 
simple, and the blanks plain, so that he encountered 
far less difficulty than he had feared. He had finished 
the log book at ten o’clock, and was about to copy the 
stubs of the time-slip book, when the door opened to 
admit a newcomer. 

He was a powerfully built man, about forty years 
of age, dressed in mackinaw, leggings, and moccasins, 
and wearing a heavy red toque on his head. Norman 
felt that he had never before seen such a magnificent 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 181 


specimen of physical manhood. The newcomer stood 
a strong six feet in his stockings. He was as straight 
as an arrow, broad-shouldered and full-chested, but 
carried not an ounce of superfluous flesh. His move- 
ments were light and springy, giving unmistakable 
evidence of vitality and endurance. His features were 
clear-cut and regular, his face full and flushed with the 
ruddy glow of perfect health. A heavy growth of dark 
hair covered his head, and clear blue eyes looked fear- 
lessly out from beneath a high forehead. Here was, 
obviously, a born leader of men, a man of tremendous 
strength and endurance. A glance at his firm mouth, 
and resolute bearing, was sufficient to impress one with 
the fact that he was also a man of tenacious will and 
indomitable courage. Instinctively Norman guessed 
his identity. 

“ Is this Mr. McMurray ? ” he asked, getting down 
from his seat at the desk. 

“ That’s my name,” said the newcomer, turning 
from the corner where he had hung his snow-shoes, 
“ and this, I reckon, is Norman Carver.” 

Norman nodded assent. 

“ Dave Hardy told me you had gone in. I stopped 
with him the night after you were there,” said the 
walking boss, giving him a hearty shake of the hand. 
A cordial smile lit up McMurray’s face, and suggested 
to Norman a spirit of fellowship that explained in 
part the mysterious power which this man was known 
to exert upon his followers. There was, at the same 


1 82 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


time, a certain dignity of bearing about him, which 
made it plain without words, that the man who enjoyed 
McMurray’s favor must merit it, and that no man 
could safely carry familiarity with him to the point 
that would breed contempt. 

“ I see they’ve got you in harness,” he said, with a 
glance at the papers on the desk. 

“ Yes,” said Norman, “ I just got started this morn- 
ing. 

“ Billy detailed you for the ladies yesterday — did 
he?” continued McMurray, with twinkling eyes. 

“ Yes.” 

“ I thought he would. Haven’t struck any snags, 
have you ? ” 

“ I’m not sure,” confessed Norman. 

McMurray took a seat on one of the bunks at the 
end of the table, and ran over the blanks Norman 
had copied off. “ These seem to be O. K.,” he said. 
“ Suppose I call off the items for you and let you verify 
them.” 

He picked up the log book, and in a deep, full voice, 
called off the various names and figures that made 
up its entries for the preceding two weeks. Norman 
checked up the items on his copy, and was much grati- 
fied to find it correct. 

“ You’ll do, I reckon,” said McMurray, approvingly. 

“I’m glad you think so,” said Norman, modestly; 
“ but what about to-day’s record ? ” 

“ Goes over into the next report. The company 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 183 


doesn’t ask any man in its woods crews to work Sun- 
days. Did Billy tell you about the wangan ? ” 

“ He gave me the keys, and told me how the book 
was kept.” 

“ Well, all the stuff is tagged and the prices marked. 
This is a strictly one-price store. The divisions on the 
big bars of tobacco indicate the ten-cent plugs. There’s 
a cutter in the chest.” 

“ This isn’t a roguery box, then ? ” 

McMurray glanced at him with an amused smile. 

“ I see you’ve heard of the general wangan repu- 
tation,” he said. “ No. This isn’t a roguery box 
here, though we aren’t maintaining it entirely for our 
health. We don’t intend, however, to commit high- 
way robbery on the men. For instance, we sell tobacco 
as cheaply as they do in the settlements, although we 
are under an extra expense for transportation.” 

He paused a moment, and indulged in a reminiscent 
smile. 

“ I remember very well how old Gid Shriver used 
to butcher his men on the wangan account, when I 
lumbered with him twenty years ago on West Branch 
waters,” he said. “ I was in the beaver house when 
Gid was calling off the items in an account for a 
Frenchman who was going out, and had come in for 
his time. 

“ ‘ Two pair o’ larrigans, seven dollars,’ he read. 

“ ‘ Hoi’ on ! ’ interrupted the Frenchman. ‘ Ba 
cripe, I only get wan pair.’ 


i8 4 all among the loggers 


“ * One pair of larrigans, seven dollars/ repeated 
Gid, in the same tone; and the Frenchman, having 
secured his correction, offered no further objection.” 

“ I hope that isn’t a fair sample of wangan methods,” 
laughed Norman. 

“ No, it isn’t,” declared McMurray; “ but it was a 
fair example of Gid Shriver’s.” 

At this point their conversation was interrupted by 
excited shouts on the shore of the lake. 

“ Ah, something’s gone wrong! ” exclaimed McMur- 
ray, as he hurried out of the camp and made his way 
in the direction of the sound, closely followed by 
Norman. 

Arriving at the landing, they found a Frenchman 
sitting on a log, holding a bare foot across his knee, 
and crying hysterically. The teamster, whose empty 
sleds still stood in the road, was standing beside him 
in a very evident state of panic. 

“ What’s the trouble here ? ” demanded McMurray. 

“ He hurt,” responded the teamster. 

“ Hurt bad?” 

“ Ba golly ! I t’ink so. He tear hees feenger-nail 
rat off hees toe.” 

“ Well, let’s take him up to the camp,” said McMur- 
ray, in a choked voice, and picking up the injured man 
as if he had been a child, he lugged him into the men’s 
camp and laid him upon one of the bunks. 

“ Start the fire,” he said briefly to one of the men. 

In a moment a cheerful blaze was roaring in the 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 185 


big stove, while the walking boss, producing a roll of 
antiseptic gauze, proceeded to bandage the injured foot 
with no little skill. 

“ I have to be something of a surgeon, as well as 
a jack-at-all-trades,” he remarked to Norman, as he 
completed his task. 

“ This man was going out to-morrow,” he added, 
“ and we had arranged for Jim Benner to take charge 
of the landing. Brace up, ’Poleon,” he added, to the 
man in the bunk. “ You’ll be all right in a day or 
two, and I’ll arrange for you to ride out Monday with 
Vede Pelotte.” 

Returning to the beaver house, they found a much 
mended pung, drawn by an emaciated white horse, 
standing in front of the door. It contained an old 
man and a younger one, who was evidently his son. 

“ Frenchmen from the back settlements,” explained 
McMurray. 

As they came alongside of the pung the older man 
began talking volubly in French. 

McMurray shook his head. 

“ No understand. What does he say?” he asked, 
turning to the younger man. 

“ He say you wan’ buy som’ oat?” 

“ How many’s he got ? ” 

The young man turned and spoke to his father in 
French. 

“ He say ’mos’ honder bushel,” he interpreted. 

“ When can he haul them ? ” 


1 86 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ He say firs’ de week.” 

“ Yes. Tell him I’ll take ’em at the regular price, 
if they’re clean oats. If they’re not, I don’t want ’em 
at all.” 

The young man hesitated. 

“ You wan’ hire nodder man on top you place?” 
he asked. 

“Where you been working?” 

“For M’sieu Smit’.” 

“ Sam Smith over on Otter pond ? ” 

“ Yass.” 

“ How did you happen to leave him ? ” 

“ Ma wife he seeck. I go down Madwasco for see 
her. W’en I come back M’sieu Smit’ ban ver’, ver’ 
mad. He tak’ me by collarre. He keeck me rat out 
from onder ma hat. Ba gosh! I tole M’sieu Smit’ 
I ban no eggshell.” 

“ So you concluded it was time to quit — did you ? ” 

“ Yass. I ronne fas’ on ma foot.” 

“ What did you do for Smith ? ” 

“ Swamp on road.” 

“ Can you come now ? ” 

“ Yass.” 

“ All right, I’ll hire you. We’re cruising some new 
territory to-day, an’ I reckon we’ll have some new 
roads to swamp the first of the week. Take your 
dunnage into the camp,” he added, “ and go down and 
help out on the landing. Shouldn’t wonder if he was 
a good swamper,” he remarked to Norman, as they 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 187 


re-entered the beaver house. “ Those back-settlement 
boys are usually pretty handy with the axe/’ 

“ I should suppose the use of the saw in felling 
trees would bring about a scarcity of good choppers,” 
observed Norman. 

“ Not at all,” returned McMurray. “ Bless you, 
the men of this section begin to use an axe as soon as 
they’re big enough to toddle to a wood-pile. I’ve been 
in the lumber-camps for the past twenty years, and 
there are just as good axemen in this very crew as I’ve 
ever seen anywhere.” 

“ Can men fell more trees with the saw than with 
the axe?” asked Norman. 

“ I don’t think so,” returned McMurray. “ They 
may cut a tree off a trifle quicker with a saw, but it 
takes a little longer to clear away for the work. Two 
good men with a saw, under fairly favorable con- 
ditions, will lay down sixty or sixty-five trees a day, 
and two good choppers working with axes under the 
same conditions wouldn’t come far short of it.” 

He was silent for a few moments, evidently absorbed 
in a brown study. 

“ I rather guess Billy went up on D,” he said, pres- 
ently. “ I think I’ll cruise up there myself after din- 
ner, and see how the land lays.” 

“ How are you going to tell whose land you are 
on?” questioned Norman. 

“ Oh, that’s easy,” was the careless rejoinder. “ All 
the wild lands in the State are surveyed off into ranges, 


1 88 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


townships, and lots, the boundaries of which have been 
marked, with a little tool used for the purpose, on 
spotted trees. A man familiar with the woods has no 
difficulty in finding them, especially if he carries a good 
map. The wild section of Maine is divided into tiers 
of townships — six miles square — running from east 
to west across the State, and known as ranges. In 
traveling the State from the south to the extreme north- 
west, we should cross twenty different ranges. The 
various townships in these ranges are designated by 
letter as D Range 3, C Range 10, and so on. Each 
township is subdivided into lots of about one hundred 
acres each. All these boundaries, ranges, townships 
and lots, have been duly surveyed and marked/’ 

“ Still, I should think you’d never be able to find 
them in this tangle of forest,” persisted Norman. “ I 
should think you’d always be in danger of cutting over 
the line onto some other man’s land.” 

“ Such things have happened before now,” returned 
McMurray, dryly. “ In fact, an old rule in the woods 
used to be to cut over a line as far as one could throw 
an axe. Still, those who have to pay stumpage on all 
the logs they have don’t gain anything by such prac- 
tices. While a few knaves have grown rich through 
such dishonesty, more of them have come to grief. 
Ah,” he added, as Fred Warner shouted “Dinner!” 
from the camp door, “ that means you and me.” 


CHAPTER XV 


AN EVENING IN THE BEAVER HOUSE 

When McMurray had donned his snow-shoes after 
dinner, and gone, with long strides, into the forest, 
Norman lingered about the cook’s camp for a while, 
watching Felix Lamarre and Fred Warner as they 
deftly cleared away the tables and washed the tin 
dishes. 

“ Dinner with only about half a dozen men to feed 
is a mere fleabite,” declared Fred, good-humoredly. 
“ It’s breakfast and supper, when the gang are here, 
that makes us hustle ’round and earn our money.” 

Later, as Warner was on his way to the lake for 
water, Norman joined him at the door of the beaver 
house, pail in hand. “ I think I’ll go with you,” he 
said. “ Billy Eustace told me that lugging water was 
to be one of my duties.” 

“ Oh, they all take a hack at that in the beaver 
house,” returned Fred, lightly. 

Arriving at the lake, Norman’s attention was 
attracted by what appeared to be a bough wigwam 
a short distance from the shore. 

“ That’s the water-hole,” said Fred, briefly, follow- 
ing his companion’s gaze. 

189 


i9o ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ But why do they cover it up that way — to keep it 
from freezing ? ” 

“ No. To keep the snow out of it.” 

When they arrived at the bough shelter, Norman 
found it covered a big hole in the lake surface. This 
was skimmed over with ice which the boys were obliged 
to cut away with an old axe that stood near, before 
they could dip up the water. As it was, the pails came 
up covered with small floating pieces of ice that clinked 
coldly against their sides. 

“ What next, Fred? ” inquired Norman, as he 
paused with his burden at the door of the beaver 
house. 

“ Well, I’ve got to start a fire in the bean-hole.” 

“ Let me help you?” 

“ All right, if you’d like to.” 

Having placed his pail of water on the shelf at the 
end of the sink, Norman hurried away to the big camp, 
where he met Fred coming out of the dingle. 

“ The first thing is to have some wood,” announced 
the cookee, leading the way to the wood-pile. From 
this the’ boys loaded the large, rough-built hand-sled, 
which Fred called a “ jumper,” and hauled it carefully 
around the farther end of the cook’s camp. Here 
Norman discovered two buildings which he had not 
seen before. One was a small, unchinked log hovel, 
with a four-sided roof of cedar splits, terminating in 
a peak which was capped by a barrel, with both ends 
removed. This hovel covered a large hole in the 


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ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 191 


ground. The other building was a small, shed-roofed 
log structure, joined to the end of the main camp, and 
which, Fred stated, afforded sleeping quarters for the 
cook, it being separated from the big room by a large 
cretonne portiere, whose uses Norman had hitherto 
failed to fathom. 

The big bean-hole was soon cleared of its accumu- 
lation of ashes, charred wood, and bits of charcoal, by 
the use of a shovel which stood beside it. Fred then 
kindled a roaring fire in it, the smoke from which found 
its way out-of-doors through the barrel chimney on 
the roof. Quantities of finely split hard wood were 
piled upon this fire, completely filling the big hole. 

“This is the first step,” announced Fred; “but it 
will be three or four hours before we are ready for 
the next one. IT1 call you, though, when the time 
comes.” 

From the bean-hole Norman made his way to the 
blacksmith shop, where Ike Tapley, assisted by Bap- 
tiste Groder, was busily employed with a big broadaxe, 
hewing the sides of a yellow birch log with a crook at 
one end. 

“ Getting out bob-sled runners,” he announced, affa- 
bly, noting Nofman’s look of inquiry. 

“ I should think it was a house timber,” returned 
Norman, with a smile. 

“ It does look something like it now,” admitted Tap- 
ley, “ but you see when I get it squared down to an 
eight-inch thickness, then Baptiste and I split it in 


192 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


two with that rip-saw you see in the square frame, and 
make two runners out of it. Of course we have to 
shape 'em up afterwards an’ iron ’em.” 

“ Do you get your own material?” asked Norman. 

“ Yes. I go out in the woods and hunt it up. I 
have to get trees about the right size, and with the 
proper crooks in ’em, an’ them kind ain’t always so 
blamed easy to find.” 

“ I shouldn’t think they would be,” agreed Norman. 

“ You see, they only use drag-sleds when they are 
yardin’,” continued Tapley. 

“ I thought you called them bob-sleds,” interposed 
Norman. 

“ So they are — ’cause they’re so short, I s’pose. 
When only one is used in yardin’ — the one with the 
tongue in it — it is called a drag-sled. You see, they 
only load one end of the log ’n’ drag t’other. Some- 
times when the trees ain’t too large ’n’ air handy to 
the yard they don’t use no sled at all — just hitch on 
t’ the log itself ’n’ twitch it t’ the yard. Mostly, how- 
ever, they use drag-sleds. When we hitch another 
sled on t’ the one with the tongue, connectin’ of ’em, 
one t’ t’other by crossed chains, it makes what we call 
a wagon-sled. Thet enables ’em t’ load logs clear 
o’ the ground. Wagon-sleds are used altogether in 
haulin’ from th’ yards t’ th’ landin’s.” 

“ I see,” said Norman. “ A front bob-sled used 
alone is a drag-sled. A front and a rear bob-sled 
hitched together with crossed chains is a wagon-sled.” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 193 


“ You’ve got th’ idee, exactly,” declared Tapley, in 
a gratified tone. 

“ Well, I’m glad to have learned something new,” 
declared Norman, “ and now I guess I’ll get back to 
the beaver house and finish my work.” 

The first faint shadows of the approaching darkness 
were beginning to creep upon the little clearing, when 
Norman, having verified his last report, laid down his 
pen and stretched himself with a sigh of relief. He 
sat for a moment mentally reviewing the events of the 
past few days, and then resuming his pen, began a 
long letter to his father, in order that it might be taken 
out by Vede Pelotte Monday morning. He was busily 
engaged in this work when he heard Fred Warner 
calling him. 

Hurrying outdoors, he found the cookee lugging in 
the direction of the bean-hole a big kettle of steaming 
beans, generously interlarded with layers of salt pork. 

“ Do you cook them in the big camp ? ” he asked. 

“ Only parboil them to make them soft,” explained 
Fred. 

Somewhat mystified, Norman followed him to the 
bean-hole, which he found more than half-full of glow- 
ing coals. A hole was made in the center of these, 
into which Fred carefully set the kettle of beans, put- 
ting a big fiat rock on top of the cover to hold it 
securely in place. The coals were heaped up around 
the kettle, after which the hole was carefully filled in, 
from the heaps of dry earth, level with the ground. 


i94 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ I should think it would put the fire out to cover it 
up that way,” said Norman. 

“ It won’t,” assured Fred. “ It’s wonderful how 
you can hold heat by covering in a bed of coals that 
way. When we take those beans out in the morning 
they’ll be swimming in pork fat and done to a turn.” 

“ You don’t appear to mind fat here,” said Norman. 

“ The life seems to demand it,” returned Fred. 
“ Our lard bill is something enormous. I imagine it 
would surprise even old woodsmen if they knew how 
much grease they actually consume in the course of 
a winter.” 

“ Fred,” said Norman, abruptly, pausing a moment 
as they parted in front of the dingle, “ I want you to 
share my bunk.” 

“You don’t mean in the beaver house?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Does Billy Eustace know about it? ” 

“ Yes. He says it’s all right, and I want you to 
come very much.” 

Fred reached forward and gave Norman a hearty 
pressure of the hand. 

“ Thank you,” he said, in a voice that trembled a 
little in spite of his effort to control it. “ Thank you 
for thinking of me. I’ll admit I sha’n’t be sorry to 
leave the big camp. Tapley, Jim Benner, and Peters 
are the only ones who smoke in the beaver house, and, 
under the circumstances, we can have things fairly 
clean there.” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 195 


“ Don’t McMurray, and Eustace, and Mr. Collins 
use tobacco?” asked Norman, incredulously. 

“ No — none of them.” 

“ They must be exceptions to the rule, then.” 

“ They are, decidedly.” 

“ Well, when you’re through work, Fred, bring in 
your dunnage ” — Norman smiled at the ease with 
which this phrase came to his lips — “I want you to 
start to-night.” 

“ All right. I’ll be in as soon as we get the supper 
dishes washed and to-morrow’s lunches put up.” 

Norman returned to the beaver house, where he was 
presently joined by Harry McMurray and Billy Eus- 
tace. They had discovered a good stand of spruce 
much nearer one of their established wood-roads than 
they had dared to hope for, and were, consequently, 
in the best of spirits. A little later Mr. Collins came 
in, looking so fresh that no one would ever have sus- 
pected from his appearance that he had snow-shoed 
more than twenty miles since breakfast. 

Soon after, they went to supper, which the occu- 
pants of the beaver house ate at the same time with 
the men, one end of a table being reserved for them. 
As Norman came into the dingle at the close of the 
meal, a big hand was laid on his shoulder ; and turning, 
he saw the swarthy, impassive face of Sol Soc bending 
above him. 

“ How likum ? ” he asked, gravely. 

“ First-rate,” said Norman. 


196 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Good,” grunted Sol. “ You knewum Pat Far- 
row ? ” he added, abruptly. 

“ What made you think so? ” asked Norman, startled 
by the keenness of the Indian. 

“ Sawum in your eye.” 

“ Yes,” admitted Norman. “ I had seen him before.” 

“ Him bad man.” 

“ That’s true, Sol,” said Norman, feeling instinc- 
tively that he could trust the Indian. 

“ Me watchum,” said the Indian, and turning 
abruptly on his heel, he stalked away into the bunk 
camp, leaving Norman surprised and mystified by the 
interview. 

When he returned to the beaver house he found that 
the others had gathered about the stove for an evening 
chat, in the only chairs — rude specimens of Ike Tap- 
ley’s handiwork — that the camp boasted. 

The blacksmith and Benner were, as usual, loqua- 
cious and sociable over their evening pipes. Dan 
Peters, a dark, taciturn, heavily bearded man, known 
to the crew as “ Deacon,” or “ Noisy Dan,” smoked 
his black clay pipe in silence, taking no part in the 
conversation, but following it with evident interest 
and enjoyment. 

Members of the crew came and went, making small 
purchases from the wangan, or joining the group 
around the stove for a moment’s enjoyment of the 
conversation. Big Pete Bedotte had planted himself 
in one of the chairs for the evening. He was an ardent 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 197 


admirer of both Mr. Collins and Harry McMurray, and 
was always a frequent visitor at the beaver house when 
either of them was stopping there. 

The yard and landing tenders brought in their 
“ books,” each of which consisted of two thin blocks 
of smooth pine, placed face to face and joined together 
at the end by a rivet, which acted also as a hinge. The 
two inner surfaces constituted the pages. From the 
data they supplied, Norman, under the direction of 
Eustace, made up the day’s record in the log-book. 

“ I shouldn’t think these wooden tablets would be 
practical,” he said. 

“ That’s where you’re wrong,” returned Eustace, 
good-naturedly. “ As a matter of fact, they are very 
practical. When they are closed they can be carried 
in the pocket without any danger of getting wet, either 
from storms or sweat.” 

“ But how will the men get rid of to-day’s record ? ” 

“ Clean it off with sandpaper. As soon as you get 
it onto the log-book they have no further use for it, 
and are ready to begin all over again. Let me see,” 
he questioned, “ Harry called off part of these com- 
pany records with you, didn’t he?” 

“ Yes — the log-book and the time-slips.” 

“ Well, we needn’t bother to go over that again. 
We’ll just check up the wangan account and the supply 
slip.” 

In a short time this work was completed. Soon 
after Fred Warner put in an appearance, carrying his 


198 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


canvas extender, which he stowed away beside Nor- 
man’s at the foot of their bunk. 

In company with Norman and Eustace, he then 
joined the group about the stove, whose limited supply 
of chairs was supplemented by several cracker-boxes 
and a pickle-keg. 

“ When I left Ronco’s cutting,” Mr. Collins was 
• saying, “ I came down from the ridge and struck a 
bee-line for the camp. Half-way through the swamp, 
in a thick ash-swale, I ran plumb into a moose-yard. 
They had the snow tramped down all ’round, and runs 
leading out into the firs and cedars at the foot of the 
horseback.” 

“ Yes, some of the boys told me there was a yard 
there,” said McMurray. “ Could you tell me how 
many there were ? ” 

“ No. The wind veered before I came within sight 
and they cleared out as quick as they scented me. I 
should judge, though, from the noise they made, that 
there must have been five or six of them.” 

“ Shouldn’t wonder,” returned McMurray. “ There’s 
lots of game in this country. The cedar-swamps are 
full of deer-yards.” 

“ Ba cripe ! I t’ink eet’s ’mos’ tarn we had sonT 
lamb for eat,” declared Pete Bedotte. 

“ I think not, Pete,” returned the scaler, decisively. 
“ It doesn’t pay to monkey with the game-laws.” 

“ Mebbe not,” said Pete, doubtfully. “ All sam’ dat 
lamb he tas’ firs’ rat’ in vou tongue.” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 199 


“ You ought to scurry round, Pete, and get some 
bear steak,” laughed McMurray. “ That reminds me 
of the jolt Jim Cookson got last Monday over to the 
Beetle Brook camp. They were swamping cut a new 
road along the foot of that long ridge on D, and when 
it came time to start a fire, Jim stepped out one side 
to get a little kindling from an old dead stub. Before 
he could strike his axe into it he broke through the 
snow an’ slid down kerslap on top of a big bear. The 
old fellow had a nice warm den there, all lined with 
moss and champed-up cedar bark. I tell you, Jim was 
scared. The boys said the way he scrambled out o’ 
that hole was a caution to owls. Of course, they got 
a gun and killed the bear. I had some of the steak 
Thursday night at Gamewood siding.” 

“ An’ how did ye like it? ” inquired Jim Benner. 

“ I didn’t like it,” confessed McMurray. “ It was 
the first I ever tasted and I reckon it will be the last. 
Perhaps I’d have liked it better if I hadn’t seen the 
carcass hanging up in the dingle at the Beetle Brook 
camp that very afternoon. He wasn’t overfat, to say 
the least, and the way he looked with the skin off and 
all the muscles sticking out reminded me of a man. 
I took one big mouthful of him at Gamewood, and the 
longer I chewed the more that cud seemed to swell 
under my teeth. Finally I had to go outdoors and 
spit it out; don’t think I could have swallowed it if 
my life depended upon it.” 

“ Bears are not over and above good eating in the 


200 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


winter/’ observed Mr. Collins, when the laugh occa- 
sioned by McMurray’s story had subsided ; “ but in the 
fall, when they’re good and fat, they make pretty fair 
meat.” 

“Not for me,” returned McMurray, with decision; 
“ I’m all done.” 

“ I t’ink woodchuck prattee nice,” observed Pete 
Bedotte. “ W’en he got so beeg on’ fat in summer 
tarn’ wit’ sweet clover w’at he eat, I lak me for shoot 
heem. I skeen heem an’ mak’ heem all dress. Ma 
famme, he blame fin’ cook, she tak’ dat woodchuck, 
feex heem wit’ nice herb, put heem on lard, bake heem 
on stove. Mon j eel I jes’ soon hav’ roas’ lamb as 
hav’ heem.” 

“We never had ’em at my house,” said Jim Benner, 
dryly. 

“ ’Cept when the minister came t’ dinner,” corrected 
Ike Tapley. “ Speakin’ o’ lawful game,” he added, 
“ what’s the matter with rabbits ? ” 

“ None of them in mine,” declared Billy Eustace, 
with emphasis. “ I’ve eaten ’em in hot pie, with layers 
o’ crust ’n’ meat, when they tasted fairly good ; but the 
way they cook ’em round here, well, don’t say a word ! 
It’s something fierce. Felix Lamarre caught two or 
three dozen of ’em last winter; but I told him plainly 
that there’d surely be a funeral if he cooked any of ’em 
at the camp, so he boxed ’em up and sent them off to 
a brother of his up in Little Canada. He’d left the 
eyes in when he took off the hides, and they looked for 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 201 


all the world like a parcel o’ skim cats. I couldn’t for 
the life of me see how any man could have the stomach 
to eat them.” 

44 I picked up a good one on Vede Pelotte, coming 
in this morning,” said McMurray, changing the subject. 

“ What was that ? ” inquired the scaler. 

“ It seems,” returned McMurray, “ that they had 
some discussion at the supper-table last night at Game- 
wood on this question : 4 A hen lays a setting of eggs, 
and a duck hatches them; which is the mother of the 
chickens ? ’ Opinion was pretty well divided, and so 
Vede thought he’d put it up to Hardy and me this 
morning, as we were late in getting in from Beetle 
Brook last night and didn’t hear the discussion. He 
was quite prepared to let us settle it once for all. He 
stated it something like this : 4 Hen he lay egg, duck 
he hatch ’em, whose goose dem be ? ’ ” 

A shout of laughter greeted this story. 

44 Didn’t get it settled, I reckon,” said Benner. 

44 No,” admitted McMurray, 44 the question is still 
open for discussion.” 

44 Well, it’s beyond me,” confessed Benner. 

44 When are you going to start the water-cart at 
this camp, Harry ? ” inquired Mr. Collins, turning to 
McMurray. 

44 Monday morning.” 

44 How many pairs on it?” 

44 Two. They’re good ones, though. I expect them 
to-morrow. They’ll weigh three thousand pounds.” 


202 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ And they’ll haul more logs for you than any of the 
teams on the wagon-sleds,” declared the scaler, with 
conviction. 

“ Yes,” acquiesced McMurray, “ I’m a firm believer 
in good roads. The best is none too good. The 
smoother you can get ’em the more they’ll save you. 
How much longer will it take you on those two upper 
yards, Billy?” 

“ We ought to wind up there the middle of the 
coming week,” responded Eustace. 

“ Well, we’ll put one of those teams to yarding that 
stand of spruce, and start the other to hauling to the 
landings. I expect also to have another team hauling 
to the landings a week from Monday ; closed a trade 
with a French farmer at Aerie Lake Tuesday. He’s 
got a corking good team, too.” 

“ One thing is in your favor at this camp,” said the 
scaler. “ It’s pretty near all down hill from the yards 
to the landings.” 

“Yes,” assented McMurray, “and we’ve also got 
good straight roads. I do hate a crooked logging- 
road.” 

“ Mighty expensive things,” coincided Mr. Collins. 
“ Got a good crew, have you, Billy ? ” he continued, 
turning to Eustace. 

“ One of the best crews I ever had,” responded the 
camp boss, with an accent of pride. “ They never say 
die. I think they’re just as interested in getting a 
good cut as I am.” 



One of the best crews I ever had.” — Page 202 







. 


















ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 203 


“ That’s the kind to have,” declared the scaler, 
approvingly. 

“ Hello ! Here’s trouble,” said Eustace, in a low 
tone, as the door swung open to admit a dark-com- 
plexioned young man. “ I’d well-nigh forgotten about 
that dance at Aerie Lake Monday night. Well, what’s 
wanted, Joe?” he added, brusquely, addressing the 
newcomer. 

“ Dey wan’ Pierre Daviau com’ horn’ rat ’way on 
de mornin’.” 

“Sure they don’t want him to-night, are you?” 
questioned Eustace, sharply. 

“ No — on de mornin’,” persisted the young French- 
man, doggedly. 

“What’s the reason?” 

“ Hees fader seeck.” 

“Very sick?” 

“ Ba cripe ! I t’ink so. He die las’ night.” 

“ Well,” returned Eustace, with resignation, “ I 
suppose he can go; but I want him right back as quick 
as that dance is over. It’s going to be a mighty sickly 
time round Aerie Lake for the next two days,” he 
observed, gloomily, when the young Frenchman had 
closed the door behind him, “ and I can reasonably 
count on at least half a dozen funerals.” 

“ One of those dances is worse than a keg of rum 
to break up a logging-crew,” declared McMurray. 

“ Has there been much liquor brought into the camps 
this winter ? ” asked the scaler. 


2o 4 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ For the most part only what the new men fetched 
along on their hips,” returned McMurray, “ and there 
wasn’t enough of that to do much mischief. I had 
a toter the first of the winter who smuggled a keg in 
here and knocked Billy out of about a day’s work. 
I tell you the gang had one grand soiree. You bet I 
discharged that toter so quick it made his ears snap. 
That’s one thing I like about Vede Pelotte. He doesn’t 
use the stuff himself, and won’t tote it for others.” 

“ He’s a good man to keep,” said the scaler. 

“Yes,” acknowledged McMurray, “and what’s 
more, he knows it. There are two or three operators 
in this section who’d like to get him, and I’ve had to 
raise the rascal’s wages twice this winter in order to 
hold him.” 

Shortly after this conversation, the men retired for 
the night, the lights were put out, and the occupants 
of the beaver house were soon wrapped in slumber. 


CHAPTER XVI 


A VISIT TO DEER TRAIL POND 

Sunday was a day of rest, and, to some extent, one 
of recreation at Camp 4. The men were called to 
breakfast an hour later than usual, and the day was 
a somewhat listless, and, for the most part, an idle one. 

Shortly after breakfast, Fred Warner entered the 
beaver house where Norman sat at the desk completing 
the letter to his father. McMurray, Eustace, and the 
scaler had put on their snow-shoes and started out on 
a long cruise immediately after breakfast. They car- 
ried lunches, and planned to be gone for the day. 

As the cookee pulled his canvas extender from 
beneath the bench at the foot of their bunk, Norman 
laid down his pen, and glanced at him with sympathetic 
interest. 

“ You don’t seem to get any let-up, Fred,” he said. 
“ Your work goes on Sundays just the same as other 
days.” 

“ It’s like a woman’s — never done,” said Fred. 

“ What have you there? ” asked Norman, with sud- 
den interest, as his bunk-mate took a small wooden 
object from his case. 

“ A barrel of gum,” replied Fred, passing it over. 

205 


206 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


It was a miniature barrel, the “ hoops ” being carved 
on the wood. It had a neat little head in either end; 
and as he shook it, Norman saw that it was, indeed, 
as Fred had stated, filled with gum. 

“ I don’t see how in the world you make them,” he 
said, examining it critically. 

“ Just as easy as rolling off a log, when you know 
how,” declared Fred. “ You will notice that the sides 
of this little barrel are hard wood, while the ends are 
white pine.” 

“What’s that got to do with making one?” 
demanded Norman, in some perplexity. 

“ It has a great deal to do with it,” asserted Fred. 
“ Come out to the blacksmith shop with me and I’ll 
show you.” 

Thoroughly interested, Norman followed his friend 
into the log hovel where Ike Tapley plied his trade on 
week-days. 

“ Here’s our start,” said Fred, picking up from the 
long work-bench a round stick of maple about two 
inches in diameter. “ I slipped into the woods and 
cut this before breakfast.” 

“ I should think you’d wear out, Fred,” declared 
Norman. 

“ It’s a good deal easier to rust out,” returned Fred, 
with a laugh. “ It’s worry, not work, that kills.” 

“What about your sled stake?” asked Norman. 

“ Do you see how smooth the bark is ? ” 

“ Yes.” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 207 


“ That shows that it is straight-grained, and free 
from knots.” 

Pausing in his explanation, Fred placed the maple 
stick securely in the iron vise, and cut off the end which 
projected beyond the bench, with a small hand-saw. 

“ It’s necessary to start with a square end,” he said. 

“What next?” asked Norman, who had been 
eagerly following all his movements. 

“ Well, the next thing is to bore our hole.” 

He picked up a bit-stock that lay upon the bench, 
and leisurely fitted it with an inch-and-a-quarter bit. 

“ You always want to put the point of your bit, or 
auger, right in the pith when you bore into the end 
of a round stick. In that way you will not be cutting 
across grains, and the danger of splitting your stick 
won’t be as great. It’s a good deal easier, though, 
to bore a green stick than it would be a thoroughly 
seasoned one. You notice that I’ve put my stick in 
the vise as nearly level as possible. Now, it is neces- 
sary, in boring, for me to carry my bit equally level, 
so that it will follow the pith the whole distance.” 

Inserting the bit in the end of the stick, Fred care- 
fully bored into it a distance of about three inches. 
Then, removing the bit, he took a sharp drawshave 
and carefully shaved off the sides of the stick, turning 
it in the vise as he worked, until he had reduced its 
diameter to an inch and three-quarters. Then, taking 
his hand-saw, he cut off a piece of the stick two and 
three-fourths inches long, and sat it on the bench. 


208 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Looks like a wooden tube/’ commented Norman. 

“ So it is — now/’ assented Fred. “Later on it 
will be the sides of our barrel.” 

“ Have you got your proper proportions ? ” asked 
Norman. 

“ Well, nearly so. I have allowed a quarter of an 
inch for the bulge in our barrel. When it is done the 
ends will finish down a quarter of an inch smaller. 
That will give us a barrel two and three-quarters inches 
high, with a diameter of an inch and a half. A reg- 
ular flour-barrel is about twenty-eight inches high with 
a diameter of about seventeen inches on the end. You 
see, therefore, that our. little model won’t be far out 
of the way. Now comes the fussy part of this thing,” 
he added, taking a jackknife from his pocket. 

“What’s that?” inquired Norman. 

“ Cutting grooves for the ends to fit into on the 
inside of this tube.” 

He worked very carefully for a few minutes, carry- 
ing his knife-blade with a steady hand, and finally laid 
down the tube with a sigh of relief. 

“ Thank goodness, that’s done ! ” he said, as he 
closed his knife and returned it to his pocket. “ Now 
to fit my ends,” he continued, taking two white-pine 
discs from his pocket. “Hurrah! Just a pattern!” 
he exclaimed, jubilantly, as he pressed one of them 
into place in the groove at one end of the wooden 
tube. “ Now for our merchandise,” he added, as Jhe 
took from his pocket a small canvas salt-bag filled 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 209 


full with glistening lumps of beautiful amber-colored 
spruce gum. 

“Isn’t that beautiful!” exclaimed Norman, admir- 
ingly. 

“ It’s number-one gum, and thoroughly cleaned,” 
said Fred. “ I must be mighty careful not to knock 
that head out,” he added, as he carefully filled his 
embryo barrel with the shining lumps. Having com- 
pleted this task, he pressed the remaining disc into the 
groove at the upper end of his tube. 

“ Now, we’ll lay it away to dry before we attempt 
to put on the finishing touches,” he continued, as he 
put the sealed tube carefully away in a cigar-box at 
the end of the bench. 

“Aren’t you afraid some one will take it?” asked 
Norman, apprehensively. 

“ No,” said Fred, confidently. “ Woodsmen have 
their faults; but stealing is very rarely one of them.” 

“ It looks to me as if your barrel wouldn’t be a very 
practical one,” declared Norman. 

“ Why not? ” 

“ If you have to be so careful in filling it to prevent 
your ends from falling out, no one would feel safe in 
handling it.” 

“ They won’t fall out when it dries,” said Fred. 
“ You see,” he explained, “ the sides of my barrel are 
made of green wood, while the ends are of thoroughly 
seasoned white pine, which I cut out of a board from 
a packing-box. As the sides dry they will contract. 


210 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


The ends being already dry will remain as they are, 
and will be forced so tightly into the grooves at the 
ends of the tube that they cannot be removed without 
breaking them.” 

“ Oh, I see,” said Norman, admiringly. 

“ When it gets dry enough so that it will be safe to 
work with it,” continued Fred, “ it will be an easy 
matter to shape it up and carve on the hoops with a 
sharp knife. It makes a good whittling-job for our 
evenings around the stove.” 

“ But surely you can’t get them as smooth as the 
one you showed me, with a knife,” said Norman, 
incredulously. 

“ No. The finishing touch is put on with a piece 
of fine sandpaper. I’m going to make you a present 
of the one we have just started, when I get it done.” 

“ Thank you, Fred,” said Norman, gratefully. “I 
shall appreciate it very much. I’m going to watch you 
through with this one, and then I shall try my own 
hand at it. If I can make a go of it, I mean to carry 
home a whole cargo.” 

“ You can do it just as well as I can,” declared Fred, 
“ and now, how would you like to do your washing 
with me? I have a boiler full of hot water on the 
stove.” 

“ I’d like to,” said Norman, eagerly, “ but how shall 
we get our things ironed ? ” 

“ We sha’n’t,” laughed Fred. “ We must consider 
ourselves mighty lucky to get them washed.” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


21 1 


A little later the boys were busily engaged in scrub- 
bing out their clothes in the dingle, undergoing in their 
work considerable good-natured chaffing from mem- 
bers of the crew, some of whom, however, were shortly 
after engaged in the same task on their own account. 
In addition to their personal clothing, Norman and 
Fred improved the opportunity to wash out two of 
their blankets. When they had hung out their com- 
pleted work on a clothes-line back of the big camp, 
they surveyed it with considerable satisfaction. 

“ There’s no need of anyone’s being dirty, even in 
a logging-camp,” declared Fred, with emphasis. 

“ I shouldn’t have agreed with you three days ago,” 
said Norman, “ but now I’m inclined to think you are 
right.” 

Shortly after dinner, while Norman was in the act 
of sealing up his letter to his father, Fred came into 
the beaver house with shining eyes. 

“Hurrah!” he said; “I’ve got a day off. Vede 
Pelotte is going to do my work the rest of the day. 
What do you say to a snow-shoe trip into the woods ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” returned Norman. “ I should like 
to go mighty well; but I suppose I ought to be within 
call to tend wangan.” 

“ You needn’t worry about that,” spoke up Ike 
Tapley, who was smoking his pipe beside the stove. 
“ I shall be here all the afternoon. Leave me your 
keys, and I’ll take care of the wangan. I’ve helped 
Billy out all winter.” 


2i2 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Thank you,” said Norman, gratefully. “ I’m sorry 
to trouble you.” 

“No trouble at all,” assured the blacksmith, heartily. 

“ I think we’d better go up the road a piece before 
we put on our snow-shoes,” said Norman. “ You see,” 
he explained, “ I’ve never had a pair on, and I’d rather 
not furnish the gang with a circus.” 

“ All right,” assented Fred. “ We’ve got a mile or 
more to go on this logging-road anyway.” 

Laughing and chatting, the boys made their way 
between the lines of towering spruce, fir, hemlock, and 
cedar trees that lined either side of the road, Fred lead- 
ing the way with Norman’s shotgun over his shoulder. 

Presently Fred stopped and took a small compass 
from his pocket. “ I was laying out to go to Deer 
Trail Pond,” he said, “ and I reckon an east course 
will just about fetch us there. You see this road runs 
nearly north and south,” he continued, balancing his 
compass on the palm of his hand. 

“That never fools you, does it?” asked Norman, 
taking out his own compass. “ The needles point the 
same way,” he said, comparing it with Fred’s. 

“ Due north, always,” said Fred. “ There may be 
times when you’ll be very sure in your own mind that 
the needle is pointing in some other direction; but 
that’s where you’ll fool yourself. It will be north 
every time. Now we’ll start out here and hold an 
east course. When we return, we’ll take a west course, 
which should bring us to the road again.” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 213 


“ Here’s something to light the way if it gets dark,” 
said Norman, taking a small electric lantern from his 
coat-pocket. 

“ That’s a dandy,” said Fred, examining it with 
enthusiasm. “Works from a storage-battery, eh?” 

“ Yes, and can be renewed when it runs out. I 
brought two extra batteries with me.” 

Fred helped Norman strap on his snow-shoes, and 
facing to the right, they struck out into the deep woods. 

“ If you take a long, loping stride, and step a little 
wide, you’ll be all right,” declared Fred. “ It will 
help you out a little to follow in my steps.” 

Norman watched his companion closely, and did his 
best to imitate his easy, swinging, forward gait; but 
was conscious that, in spite of his efforts, he was 
making much harder work of it. Presently, as they 
were passing down the descending side of a knoll, he 
stubbed his toe against the top of a bush and fell 
sprawling into the snow. He attempted to rise; but 
his snow-shoes had become crossed, and he found it 
impossible to do so. A feeling of utter helplessness 
came upon him ; but he was too proud to call for assist- 
ance. He was still struggling to free himself, when 
his companion, returning from round a clump of firs 
which had hidden him from sight, saw his predicament. 

“Hold on!” shouted Fred. “I’ll fix you!” He 
came rapidly back to Norman, and straightened out 
the tangled snow-shoes. Then, holding out a hand, 
he helped him to his feet. 


214 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


‘‘Laugh, Fred! You’ve got a right to,” panted 
Norman, as he brushed the snow from his clothes. 

“ I don’t think you consider it a laughing matter, 
do you?” returned Fred. 

“ I never felt so helpless in my life,” confessed Nor- 
man. “ It seems to me as if I’d been in a pretty 
serious scrape if I’d been alone.” 

“ Oh, you’d got up all right, after you’d threshed 
round a spell,” returned Fred. “ Still, I never thought 
it was a wise plan for a fellow to go off in the deep 
woods alone, although hundreds of them do it.” 

“ You’ll never catch me doing it,” declared Norman, 
with decision. 

“ You’ll feel differently when you get a little more 
used to it,” laughed Fred. Starting forward again he 
led the way through a tangle of firs and scrub spruces, 
and presently emerged upon a ridge covered with hard- 
wood growths. “ I reckon we’d better rest here a 
spell, and give you a chance to get your breath,” he 
said, as he brushed the snow from the top of a big 
windfall. 

They seated themselves on the trunk of the big tree, 
whose gnarled limbs alone held it above the surface 
of the deep snow, and Norman looked out upon the 
scene about him in wondering silence. The mighty 
trees towered far above him. An ominous silence 
brooded over the forest, broken only by the weird 
refrain of a light breeze as it went moaning through 
the tall tops, the noisy chatter of some red squirrels, 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 215 


volubly protesting against the invasion of their ances- 
tral domain, and the impatient call of several fluffy, 
gray birds perched in apparent fearlessness on some 
small firs that stood close beside the spot where Fred 
and Norman were seated. 

“ Those birds have followed us all the afternoon,” 
said Norman. 

“ Yes/’ assented Fred. “ They always do that. 
They’re gobbies, and mean to have our lunch.” 

“Gobbies?” questioned Norman. 

“ Yes — moose-birds, they call them round here.” 

“We had one of them mounted in our school col- 
lection at home, but it was called a Canada jay there.” 

“ I reckon that’s the scientific name all right,” said 
Fred; “ but no one calls ’em that here. They’re know- 
ing little fellows, but mighty greedy. They’ll follow 
a hunter all day, and are always on hand when the 
crews eat their lunches in the woods.” 

“They are also the camp scavengers, aren’t they?” 

“ They clean up all the waste, if that’s what you 
mean,” said Fred. “ Sometimes they’ll even come 
into the dingle and pick the fat off the sides of beef 
that hang there. There are not many birds that winter 
here — the gobbies, owls, woodpeckers, chickadees, 
and blue jays are about all.” 

“ And partridges,” suggested Norman. 

“ Yes,” admitted Fred; “ but it’s close time on them 
until the middle of next September.” 

“What tracks are these?” asked Norman, pointing 


216 all among the loggers 


curiously to a number of fan-shaped prints in the 
snow. 

“ Rabbits. The big broad track' there is a lynx. 
Those little ones in pairs are squirrels. I also saw 
the track of a black cat back a piece.” 

“ If you see any new ones,” said Norman, “ let me 
know. I want to learn them.” 

“ All right.” 

A moment later they resumed their tramp. Coming 
down off the ridge they plunged into the tangled depths 
of a dense cedar swamp. They were in the midst of 
this when Norman was startled by an exclamation of 
surprise from Fred, who was slightly in advance, and 
almost immediately caught a glimpse of a large animal, 
which seemed to be white, go floundering away through 
the snow with mightly leaps. 

“ What was that?” he called to Warner, in dazed 
surprise. 

“ A deer,” returned Fred. “ There’s a yard here.” 

Norman hurried forward to join his companion. 
Coming up with him, he found that the deep snow had 
been tramped down over quite a section of the swamp. 
The foliage had been browsed off the cedars in this 
section to an astonishing height, and it was evident 
from a runway tramped out towards another part of 
the swamp that the deer had already extended their 
works in that direction. “ Most of ’em went down 
that way,” said Fred, pointing to this runway; “but 
I reckon I must have headed off the one you saw.” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 217 


“ Just look at the trail he left,” said Norman, point- 
ing to the big holes in the snow. 

“ They leave their mark in the snow, all right,” 
assented Fred. 

“ The one I saw was white,” declared Norman. 

“ I reckon he was mostly light tan,” said Fred, skep- 
tically. “ You saw his flag.” 

“ What’s that?” 

“ His tail. The under part is white, and when a 
deer is running away with his flag straight up, and all 
brushed out, it looks as if that was pretty much all 
there was to him.” 

“ But there are white ones, aren’t there ? ” persisted 
Norman. 

“Yes. There’s an occasional albino; but they are 
more often read about than seen.” 

“You’re probably right, Fred,” admitted Norman; 
“ but I certainly thought he was white. I should think 
it would be pretty easy to get deer in the yards,” he 
added. 

“ It is,” assented Fred. “ When the snow is deep 
a man on snow-shoes has them almost at his mercy. 
It’s the meanest kind of poaching to kill them then.” 

Once through the swamp they made their way again 
up the steep sides of a ridge into hardwood growth — 
beech, birch, and maple. 

“ These are the old, original growths,” said Fred. 
“ The hard wood has never been cut in this section.” 

“ What is that monster over there ? ” 


218 all among the loggers 


“ A yellow birch.” 

“ My ! but isn’t it a monarch ! ” exclaimed Norman, 
gazing in awe at the towering trunk. 

“ Trees grow high in the deep woods,” observed 
Fred. “ They have to in order to overreach the smaller 
growths, and get the sunlight. It’s a constant struggle 
for existence. In the clearings they run more to top 
and less to trunk.” 

“ How many kinds of birch are there ? ” 

“ There are the white birch, the gray birch, the 
yellow birch, and the black or red birch round here.” 

“ They don’t tap them for gum, do they ? ” 

“ So Benner tried that chestnut on you, did he ? ” 
laughed Fred. “No, I don’t reckon we’d get much 
gum from hard wood. They do make a very fair 
quality of vinegar, though, from yellow-birch sap.” 

Passing over the ridge they made their way down a 
steep hill, and stood on the edge of a broad, snow-clad 
plain. 

“ Deer Trail Pond,” announced Fred, briefly. 

“ And that, I suppose, is the sporting-camp I’ve heard 
Pete Bedotte speak about,” said Norman, pointing to 
a trim-looking house of peeled logs, with a broad piazza 
in front, that stood in a clump of firs on a narrow point 
of land making out into the pond. 

“ Yes. That’s Isaac Solstein’s place.” 

“ Somebody’s here ahead of us,” said Norman, point- 
ing to two men who were busily engaged in fishing 
through the ice. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 219 


“ They had some shoveling to do to reach the sur- 
face of the pond,” declared Fred, pointing to the pile 
of snow that surrounded the hole. 

“ And they take turns thawing out,” said Norman, 
with a glance at the blazing fire, which was burning a 
short distance away in a big hole it had melted in the 
snow. “ Who are they ? ” 

“ The one by the fire is Baptiste Groder. I can’t see 
the face of the one handling the lines. Why,” he 
exclaimed, as the fisherman suddenly straightened up, 
and cast a lowering glance in their direction, “ it’s that 
freak they codfished the other night.” 

“ Clouter Kelty!” burst involuntarily from Nor- 
man’s lips. 

“ No,” corrected Fred. “ It’s Pat Farrow.” 

“ I don’t want any part of him,” declared Norman, 
warmly. 

“ Nor I, either,” coincided Fred. “ Let’s clear out.” 

They were about to act on this suggestion, when 
they were arrested by a cordial hail from Baptiste 
Groder. 

“ Bonjour, boys ! ” he shouted. “ Come rat down 
wit’ you an’ mak’ youse’fs be warm on de fire.” 


CHAPTER XVII 


CRIMINATION AND RECRIMINATION 

Somewhat reluctantly, Norman and Fred made their 
way along the surface of the pond, and joined Baptiste 
before the blazing fire. 

“What luck?” asked Fred, as they paused before 
its cheerful glow. 

Baptiste proudly displayed a crotched birch withe, 
upon which were strung half a dozen beautiful square- 
tailed trout, the largest of which would probably weigh 
a pound and a half. 

“ How dat — heh ? ” he asked. 

“Great!” declared Fred, sententiously. 

“ Oh, aren’t they beauties! ” cried Norman, enthusi- 
astically. 

“ Ba cripe ! I t’ink so,” declared Baptiste, highly 
gratified. “ Dey ban ole whoppers w’at mak’ you 
laugh youse’f on you’ face for see. We cook heem. 
We come prepare,” he added, affably, displaying a 
long-handled frying-pan and a big junk of pork, which 
he pulled very proudly from under a pile of boughs 
near the fire. 

“Got wood enough?” asked Fred. 

“ Plaintee ! ” 


220 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 221 


“All sawed to size!” pursued Fred, as he glanced 
at the sticks piled up by the fire. 

“ Dere ban whole shed full up on shaintee,” said 
Baptiste easily, pointing towards the sporting-camp. 

“ But that isn’t ours,” protested Fred. 

“ I fink so now. M’sieu Solstein tol’ me las’ fall 
for help mase’f,” declared Baptiste, glibly. 

Fred shot an incredulous glance at Norman, but 
forbore to pursue the subject further. 

At that moment the fisherman approached the fire, 
bearing another trout. 

“ Hello, boys,” he said, with an attempt at cordiality. 

“Hello, Pat,” responded Fred; while Norman nod- 
ded a little stiffly, not trusting himself to speak. 

“ Take off your snow-shoes,” insisted the bogus Far- 
row ; “ sit down by the fire, and help eat these trout.” 

The boys removed their snow-shoes and used them 
for seats on the snowbank before the fire. 

Norman was uneasily conscious that the desperado 
was watching him closely out of the corners of his 
eyes, and fancied that he saw a hard look come into 
his face. If, however, Kelty harbored any suspicions, 
it was evident that he was doing his best to keep the 
boys from suspecting it. He busied himself with the 
pork and frying-pan while Baptiste and the boys car- 
ried the trout to the hole in the ice, and carefully 
dressed them, first dipping out and carrying back to 
the fire the water for their tea, in a small lard-pail 
which Baptiste had brought along with him. 


222 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


Soon the tea was boiling and the trout merrily siz- 
zling over the hot coals. 

The tin dippers and lunches which they had brought 
with them were spread out on a table of boughs; and 
with their hunting-knives for tableware, the members 
of the ill-assorted party sat down to a “ feed ” which 
the others coincided with Norman in pronouncing “ fit 
for a king.” 

“ We’ve got to make tracks if we get any sort of a 
start before dark,” remarked Fred, with a glance at 
the sun, as they hastily gathered up their things at the 
close of their repast. 

“ We mak’ dat upper log-road ’fore dark,” said Bap- 
tiste, easily. 

“ That’s a good road now,” added Farrow. “ Noisy 
Peters is hauling over it to the upper landing.” 

“ It’s the longest way round,” objected Fred. 

“ Never you mind,” returned Farrow, curtly. “ It’s 
sure to be the nearest way home on a dark night. What 
a bloomin’ shame it is,” he pursued, “ that gents like 
us should have to eat in the open, while that old Sheeny 
has a joint over there that would give us just th’ layout 
we’d like. I’d like to know what right he has to lock 
up a shack in the woods anyway.” ' 

“ Oh, I guess he’s got right enough, bein’ as he owns 
the land,” said Fred. 

“ Well, he’s no part of a man to do it, if he has,” 
grumbled Farrow. 

Resuming their snow-shoes, the members of the 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 223 


party struck rapidly through the woods, Baptiste Gro- 
der leading the way. They had not yet reached the 
logging-road before darkness began to shut down upon 
them, and “ the many-voiced night of the woods ” 
brought with it a weird sense of vastness and solitude. 
The sombre spell of its mystery was upon them all, as 
they moved silently along among the tangled growths, 
through which Baptiste picked his way with the uncon- 
scious skill of the trained woodsman. 

Presently he paused a moment. 

“ I t’ink we ’mos’ dere,” he said. 

“ You would have to take a southwest course to hit 
that road, wouldn’t you?” asked Fred. 

“ Yass — I t’ink so.” 

“ Let’s take a look at my compass. Just give me 
a little light here, Norman.” 

As Norman, complying with this request, stepped to 
Fred’s side and flashed his electric light upon his com- 
pass, the other members of the party were outspoken 
in their admiration. 

“ If I hadn’t been dopy I’d thought to bring one of 
those fellers along with me,” declared Farrow. 

“ Dat wan grande, firs’-rat’ t’ing,” asserted Baptiste. 

“ I judge you’re pulling a little too much into the 
south,” said Fred. 

“ Yass, I t’ink so,” coincided Baptiste, after looking 
at the compass. 

He struck out again at a pace which made it difficult 
for Norman to keep up with the others, although he 


224 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


had, in a large measure, acquired the knack of handling 
his snow-shoes. He was too proud, however, to ask 
for a slower pace, although he was secretly grateful to 
Fred when, on several occasions, he asked Baptiste to 
stop and wait for him. Once, as he passed under a 
big hemlock, his heart seemed to come into his throat, 
when a hoarse hoot sounded dismally over his head. 
He felt ashamed of his fears, however, when, glancing 
up, he saw the big yellow eyes of an owl gleaming bale- 
fully in the darkness. One by one the stars came out, 
and glittered brightly in the cold sky. Over the tall 
tops of the spruces the crescent of the rising moon 
was beginning to show, when Baptiste led his com- 
panions out of a tangled windfall into the logging-road. 

“ Hooraw ! Here she ban,” he announced, in a tone 
of relief, as he paused and wiped his perspiring face 
with a bandanna handkerchief. 

“ Yes. I surmise she stays here most of the time,” 
said Farrow, dryly. 

“ It will be easy from here,” remarked Fred to 
Norman. “ This road leads down to the upper land- 
ing. All we have to do is to follow the lake-shore 
road from there, and it will bring us back to the 
camp.” 

“Let’s get on de gam’,” said Baptiste, when the 
members of the party had removed their snow-shoes, 
and, again shouldering the axe he was carrying, he 
started at a rapid pace down the logging-road, with 
Fred Warner close at his heels. Norman, unused to 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 225 


long jaunts, and already weary from his tramp, found 
himself unable to keep up with them. As he lagged 
more and more to the rear he was somewhat discon- 
certed to find that Farrow kept close to his side. For 
a time they plodded along without speaking. Presently 
the outlaw broke the silence. 

“ You know me,” he said, in cold, even tones. 

“ Yes,” admitted Norman. 

“ I thought that mug of yours looked natural the 
first night I watched you at supper,” pursued Kelty. 
“ I didn’t have much chance to get real well acquainted 
with you the last time we met.” 

“ No,” admitted Norman, coolly. “ You appeared 
somewhat pressed for time.” 

“ It’s better to be pressed than pinched,” said Kelty, 
bitterly. “ It wasn’t your fault, though, that I didn’t 
stay longer with you.” 

“ No,” returned Norman, with exasperating calm- 
ness. “ I was in hopes to have seen more of you.” 

As he spoke he heard the desperado grit his teeth, 
and felt that his small, weasel-like eyes were resting 
upon him with furtive malice. 

“You’re a cool one!” 

Kelty’s voice carried the effect of a sneer. 

“ Why haven’t you peached on me? ” he demanded. 
“ Why haven’t you shown me up and claimed the 
reward ? ” 

“ I didn’t wish to.” 

“Ah! You’d better not. This country will be a 


226 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


good deal more healthy for you if you don’t,” hissed 
Kelty, fiercely. “ You’ve got a little burglar record 
of your own. Ah, ha! You needn’t jump. I’m on. 
Understand? I’m on. Now, pal, I don’t think it 
would be wise for either of us to know much history. 
Where ignorance is bliss, it’s only an ass who’d care 
to be wise.” 

He paused and leered at Norman out of the corners 
of his eyes. 

“ I think,” he concluded, in a tone of covert threat, 
“ that you and I have a pretty distinct understanding. 
You curry my horse, and I’ll curry yours. See ? Mean- 
while, you probably won’t hanker for my society, and 
I guess I can worry along without yours.” 

“ What do you mean? ” gasped Norman, amazed at 
the man’s effrontery. “ Do you insinuate that I’m a 
fugitive from justice?” 

“ No, indeed!” sneered Kelty. “ The idea! You 
simply tore yourself away from the Four Hundred at 
this sultry season of the year, and came down here in 
the woods in search of health. The doctors all said it 
was necessary for you to escape the wintry heat and 
dust of the great city, and your folks were entirely 
willing to forfeit the bail. I understand your case, 
exactly. I had the papers while I was locked up, and 
I read ’em, too, very, very carefully, especially the 
police and court records. I always did take to that 
sort of news. See?” 

“ Didn’t you know that I — I — was discharged — 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 227 


that the case against me was dropped?” demanded 
Norman, white with passion. 

“ You had powerful and influential friends at court 
— church deacons and such like,” said Kelty. “ Oh, 
I saw ’em there,” he insisted, as Norman started to 
break in upon him. “ I know the stripe. I’ve been 
round the block once and half-way back again. I’ve 
no doubt they arranged for you to go leisurely out at 
the front door of the court-house, while I was obliged 
to take a somewhat hasty departure from the back one ; 
but we’re on the same footing. We both find this 
woods life good for our complexions.” 

He threw back his head and gave vent to a low 
chuckle, in which were mingled satisfaction, insolence, 
and hatred. It acted upon Norman like an electric 
shock. 

“ Look here,” he began, sharply, straightening up 
with a snap, and looking the desperado full in the face 
in the moonlight. 

“ My name is Farrow,” interposed Kelty. 

“ Well, Farrow,” repeated Norman, “ I’ve never 
called you anything else.” 

“ And it wouldn’t be wise for you to.” 

“ I want you to understand, once for all, that there’s 
nothing you can tell concerning me that will hurt me 
in the least. Furthermore, I have the utmost contempt 
for you and your threats. I am not afraid of you.” 

“ No? ” sneered Kelty. 

“ No,” responded Norman, coolly. “ You can 


228 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


threaten and bully, and spit out your venom as much 
as you like; but you can’t intimidate me.” 

“ I suppose you would like to have me tell all about 
your experience as a burglar ? ” sneered Kelty. “ It’s 
not so long a one as mine, perhaps; but it was fairly 
strenuous while it lasted.” 

“ No,” returned Norman, “ I did not say that it 
would be pleasant to have that escapade known here; 
but I did say that it would in nowise hurt me. If you 
think you would enjoy telling it, you are at perfect 
liberty to do so.” 

“ You’re a nervy little devil,” conceded Kelty, “ and 
I can’t help liking you a little for it; but bluffs don’t 
go with me. See ? ” 

“ I see nothing to fear,” rejoined Norman. “ Noth- 
ing you can tell will seriously affect me, for the matter 
is all settled and closed. I know, as you know, that one 
word from me establishing your identity would send 
you to prison, perhaps to the electric chair — ” 

A distinct gasp came from Kelty. 

“ So if you’re wise — and, while I know you’re a 
knave I never thought you were a fool — you’ll drop 
all insinuations and bluster and bluff when you’re talk- 
ing with me. I simply won’t stand to be bullied, or 
threatened, or browbeaten. I know what your record 
is, and I know why you’re skulking.” 

“ Skulking ! ” echoed Kelty, hoarsely. “ Skulking ! 
Just think of men of our ability burying ourselves in 
this living tomb and doing slaves’ work.” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 229 


“ I don’t think it will hurt either of us to work for 
our living any more than other folks — although I 
imagine the experience is somewhat new for you.” 

“ I certainly admire your nerve,” declared Kelty, 
sharply. “You — who didn’t even do your stealing 
for a living.” 

Norman winced perceptibly under this thrust. More 
than ever before, he regretted the foolish escapade that 
had laid him open to it. 

“ I certainly never converted another man’s property 
to my own uses,” he said, coldly. “ I did make the 
mistake of borrowing once ; but the property was 
returned and the owner made no charges against me.” 

Norman’s tone carried conviction. Kelty was dis- 
agreeably forced to the conclusion that his power over 
the boy beside him was far less than he had supposed. 

“ Why did you come here ? ” he demanded, brusquely. 

“ Why, father felt that the change of companionship 
and surroundings would be good for me. It’s my first 
experience in the woods — but not yours.” 

Kelty was visibly affected by this statement. 

“ What makes you think that ? ” he asked, uneasily. 

“ The way you’ve taken hold of your work here. 
The men agree that you’re an old hand.” 

“ So you’ve discussed me with the men, have you ? ” 

“ No, but I’ve heard the men discuss you with one 
another.” 

“Well, what if I am an old hand?” demanded 
Kelty. “ Is there anything wrong in that ? ” 


230 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ It depends a good deal upon the kind of record 
you made.” 

Kelty pressed forward, and laid a shaking hand upon 
Norman’s shoulder. 

“ For God’s sake, Carver ! ” he pleaded in wheedling 
tones; ‘ don’t squeal on me. Give me another chance.” 

“ Let’s have no misunderstandings, Kel — er — 
Farrow,” said Norman. “ I’m not a detective, and 
I certainly have no desire to interfere with you, so 
long, at least, as you behave yourself, and let me 
severely alone.” 

“That’s straight, is it?” asked Kelty, in a tone of 
relief. 

“ I mean just what I say,” asserted Norman. 

“ Shake ! ” said Kelty, extending his hand. 

“ I prefer not to,” returned Norman. “ I don’t care 
to have anything in common with you, for I am con- 
vinced that if it were not for your fear of recapture 
you would even now be up to your old tricks again.” 

“ Well, let it go at that,” returned Kelty. “ I’ve got 
my good qualities as well as my bad ones. Reckon 
there’s some Injun in me. I say to you now, Carver, 
man to man, that if you keep my secret you will never 
lose anything by it.” 

They had been walking along briskly as they talked, 
and presently the flickering lights of the camp clearing 
came in sight. As Norman paused at the door of the 
beaver house, Kelty spoke again. 

“ Good-night,” he said, abruptly. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 231 


“ Good-night/’ returned Norman. 

For a moment after the outlaw had passed into the 
dingle, Norman stood gazing after him. “ How diffi- 
cult it is,” he reflected, “ to outlive the consequences 
of a wrong act.” 

With a sigh, he turned and entered the beaver house, 
where he found the rest of its occupants assembled 
about the stove enjoying their evening chat. 

As usual, logging operations came in for a large 
share of the discussion. 

“ What should you estimate the total timber cut 
in the State this year, Mr. Collins ? ” asked Harry 
McMurray. 

“ Well, conditions have been unusually favorable 
this winter, and I rather look for a total cut of fully 
800,000,000,” responded the scaler. 

“ What do you think the annual growth of timber 
in the State is ? ” 

“ Well, I should estimate it about 700,000,000.” 

“ So you think we are gradually exhausting our 
forests ? ” 

“ Yes,” returned Mr. Collins. “ You must know, 
yourself, that we are cutting constantly smaller and 
smaller trees — and cutting them with comparatively 
little improvement over the wastful methods of our 
fathers. We are taking everything pretty clean, with- 
out much regard to size, that is close to our established 
logging-roads, and letting ’most everything else go. 
We need more intelligent and more scientific handling 


232 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


of our forests. It is wonderful, though, how our 
Maine forests hold out. I remember when I was a 
boy, my father was interested with others in a sawmill, 
and they had it all figured out just when the supply of 
timber was going to be exhausted. The time they set 
has gone by years ago, and we are getting bigger cuts 
than ever, so I calculate that it would not be safe or 
wise for me to venture any predictions along that line. ,, 

“ One thing I know,” declared McMurray ; “ the cost 
of getting timber is steadily increasing. My father 
would never have dreamed of yarding logs with the 
snow as deep as it is to-day; but we feel that we can 
afford to do a considerable amount of shoveling in 
getting our sawlogs, when lumber is bringing the high 
prices it is to-day.” 

Shortly before the lights wese blown out, Fred 
Warner came to Norman, as he sat at the desk, with 
an old and somewhat soiled blank-book in his hand. 

“ I wish you would set me some copies in this when 
you have time,” he said. “ I haven’t much spare time 
here; but what little I have I mean to make count. 
I see that you write a fine hand, and can help me a 
good deal. If I can get some one to help us out on 
the farm, I mean to go to our district school next 
summer. I want also to go to the Academy at Bolton, 
a part, if not the whole, of the fall term.” 

“ Tm glad to hear you talk that way, Fred,” said 
Norman, “ but it makes me mightily ashamed of the 
opportunities I’ve wasted.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE SAD FATE OF DOG ’POLEON 

“ And now for our first lesson in saw-filing,” 
announced Billy Eustace, when he and Norman 
returned to the beaver house after breakfast Monday 
morning. “ I’m going to file three, and after I’m 
gone Tapley will file two more. That will be a new 
one for each crew to-morrow morning. Tapley has 
been doing a large part of the filing this winter, with 
what help I have been able to give him. He is so busy 
now fitting up wagon-sleds for hauling, that I feel as 
if we ought to take this work off from him as soon 
as possible.” 

Fixing one of the long saws in the big wooden vise, 
Eustace carefully explained to Norman all the pro- 
cesses of filing, showing him also how to handle the 
little iron gauge used to determine the evenness of the 
“ set,” or alignment of teeth. He had his pupil use 
one of the files under his direction, and was much 
gratified both by Norman’s eagerness to master the 
work, and the aptitude he displayed for it. 

“ You’ll do,” he declared, briefly. 

“ I don’t know,” said Norman, doubtfully. “ Ike 
Tapley says it’s a knack to file a woods saw right.” 
233 


234 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ So it is,” admitted Eustace, “ but he’s not the only 
one that’s learned to do it, and I shouldn’t wonder a 
mite if there’d be others after he’s gone. It’s mighty 
likely to happen so.” 

“ I’ll do my best,” declared Norman. 

“ Yes, and you’ll tumble onto the knack of it almost 
before you know it. You better not let the men know 
you are doing it. Sawyers are apt to be cranks on 
that point. It would surprise you how bad those saws 
would get, the minute they discovered that some new 
man was filing them. Now I’m going to leave you 
this old one. When you’ve seen Ike file his two you 
can come back here and practice on it — and I’ll look 
it over with you to-night.” 

After Eustace was gone, Norman made his way to 
the blacksmith shop, where Tapley was waiting to give 
him further instructions. “ Pokerface ” Ike had the 
reputation of being an expert in this work, and Nor- 
man found him a very good teacher. 

After one saw had been filed, Tapley told Norman 
to do the second, instructing him and guiding him as 
he went along. 

When Norman returned to the beaver house to still 
further try his new art upon the old saw that had been 
left him, he felt well satisfied that he would, in a short 
time, be capable of performing creditably this task, 
which at the first had loomed up before him like a 
mountain of difficulty. 

When he had slowly and carefully completed this 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 235 


work, he surveyed it with considerable satisfaction. 
He was very sure in his own mind that it would meet 
with the approval of Billy Eustace, who, he felt, would 
scarcely expect as good results from a first attempt. 

Taking the water-pail from the sink-shelf, after he 
had removed the saw from the vise and stood it in a 
corner, Norman made his way down to the water-hole 
in the lake. Here, putting down his pail, he paused 
to watch the movements of Jim Benner, who was at 
work a short distance away on the landing. 

As yet the pile of logs, destined to assume giant 
proportions before the ice went out in the spring, from 
its gathering in of the yards, was only fairly started. 
It stood at the foot of a long sloping bank down which 
the logs were rolled onto the skids that ran crosswise 
of the different layers or decks. 

As Norman watched, he saw a team drive up with 
a load of logs. It was a powerful pair of dapple- 
grays, weighing more than three thousand pounds ; and 
as the teamster brought them to a standstill in front 
of the landing, Norman was dumfounded to recognize 
the villainous face of Clouter Kelty. As the new team- 
ster unchained his logs and, picking up a peavey, helped 
Benner roll them upon the landing, it was evident that 
his present calling was by no means new to him. He 
handled himself with the skill of a veteran, and Nor- 
man, in spite of his dislike for him, could not help 
admiring his splendid physical development. 

After the logs were unloaded and Kelty had passed 


236 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


out of sight behind a fringe of heavy firs and cedars 
that grew close down to the lake shore, Norman made 
his way to the landing. 

“ Howdy’, bub ! ” was Benner’s greeting, when he 
glanced up from his work and saw the new clerk almost 
at his elbow. 

“Hello!”, returned Norman; “got a new team- 
ster?” 

“ Yes, a force-put. T’other fellow jacked his job 
this mornin’. Blamed if I don’t believe this skunk of 
a Farrow will hold down th’ job. He’s driv’ team 
afore, sure’s you’re born.” 

“ It looked like it,” acquiesced Norman. 

“ Thet ’ere cuss can’t help lookin’ at me out o’ th’ 
corner of his eyes ever since I gin ’im thet codfish,” 
pursued Benner. “Lord! Doesn’t he just hate me, 
though! He’ll never forgive me for thet larrupin’ I 
gin ’im. I reckon he found out thet it doesn’t pay to 
git too flip in a loggin’-crew.” 

“ He doesn’t look as if he loved anyone very much.” 

“ Includin’ of himself,” added Benner. He paused, 
seated himself on a log, and, producing a well-black- 
ened corn-cob pipe from his pocket, placed it in his 
mouth. Then, opening a jack-knife, he cut a number 
of thin slices of tobacco from a black plug, and crum- 
bled them reflectively between his palms. Holding the 
pipe, its bowl encircled by his little finger, in the same 
palm with his tobacco, he slowly filled it, pressing 
down the odorous charge with the gnarled and cal- 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 237 


loused forefinger of his other hand. It was evident 
that this important operation was always a period of 
mental rumination with old Jim Benner, and Norman 
wisely forbore to interrupt the current of his reflec- 
tions. Presently, having lighted his pipe, blown a 
few vigorous puffs into the air, and spat meditatively 
against the end of a log, Benner broke the silence. 

“ Blamed if I can get it out o’ my head thet I’ve 
seen this Farrow before,” he said. “ I lumbered in 
Wisconsin one winter, ’n’ there was a human hyena 
there es killed a boss in a camp near us. Stabbed him 
with a dirk-knife. I’d seen the feller over to our 
shack once or twice of a Sunday, but hadn’t scraped 
up any acquaintance with ’im. I helped hunt for ’im, 
though, after he done the murder. We had a rope 
with us, an’ I don’t think he’d have traveled much 
farther — if we’d ketched ’im, but he cheated us by 
gittin’ drowned.” 

“ Getting drowned ? ” 

“ Yes. Broke through the thin ice in the pond. 
They found his body later in the spring arter the ice 
went out.” 

“ What was his name?” questioned Norman. 

“ He called himself Ben Fargo, an’ d’ye know, I 
never look at this cuss Farrow, but what I’m reminded 
of ’im. I reckon thet’s what makes me so suspicious. 
Any man, in my jedgment, what sports a murderous 
mug like thet ought t’ be jailed at once on gin’ral prin- 
ciples.” 


238 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Do they keep you pretty busy here?” asked Nor- 
man, changing the subject. 

“ No. Softest snap I’ve hed this winter. I’ve 
pretty nigh worn out the seat o’ my trousers already, 
V thet’s a thing Harry McMurray doesn’t intend for 
any of his men t’ do. Makes me feel guilty es thunder 

— still I’m gettin’ things blocked out ’bout right an’ 
there’ll be plenty o’ jumpin’ t’ do when they git a few 
more teams a-haulin from th’ yards.” 

He picked up a light axe and started cutting on the 
side of one of the logs. 

“What are you doing there?” asked Norman, with 
interest. 

“ I’m markin’ this log. The Lakeland Lumber Com- 
pany doesn’t own all the sawmills on these ’ere waters 

— not by any means. These marks are what enable 
them to tell their logs from some other feller’s. Every 
operator has his own log-mark an’ has it registered in 
th’ registry o’ deeds office, in the county where they 
cut their logs, ’n’ agin in the county where they hev 
their main office — in case it happens to be a different 
one. There ! ” he added, pausing from his labors ; 
“ I’ll bet ye a dime nobody’ll ever scratch thet off with 
his shoe-calks.” 

“What does that mean?” asked Norman, look- 
ing somewhat dubiously at the cabalistic characters, 
L/C X- which the veteran woodsman had cut in 
the log. 

“ Wal,” explained Benner, “ thet, being elucefied, 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 239 


means L, turtle, cross. It’s the log-mark o’ the Lake- 
land Lumber Company.” 

“ So those four marks are a turtle, are they ? ” com- 
mented Norman. “ I see his legs, but where’s his 
body?” 

“ It’s thar, even though ye can’t see it,” responded 
Benner. “ Thet’s where it differs from the pea under 
th’ walnut-shell.” 

“ So you think the pea isn’t apt to be under the 
walnut-shell?” questioned Norman. 

“ Wal, I never succeeded in findin’ it thar,” returned 
Benner, dryly. 

“ What’s to prevent some other operator from using 
the same mark?” asked Norman. 

“ Nothin’, only as it was registered first by the 
Lakeland Lumber Company, he’d hev t’ wait till we 
picked out our count in case of a mix-up, afore he 
could come into the deal. Operators hain’t gin’rally 
hankerin’ arter them kind o’ complications.” 

“Jim!” said Norman, with a sudden impulse; “I 
want you to look out for Farrow. He’s a bad man. 
He hates you, and I believe he intends to do you harm.” 

“ Bless ye, youngster ! ” returned the veteran, evi- 
dently touched by this warning. “ Don’t ye worry 
yer head ’bout me. I alius hev an axe an’ a peavey 
nigh et hand, ’n’ I reckon I can take keer o’ myself.” 

Norman returned to the water-hole, and, filling his 
pail, carried it back to the beaver house. The more 
he thought over what Benner had told him, the more 


240 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


the conviction grew upon him that the murderer Ben 
Fargo had not been drowned, and that he and Kelty, 
alias Farrow, were one and the same man. 

That night the beaver house was without the pres- 
ence of Mr. Collins and Harry McMurray, both of 
whom were pursuing their labors at some of the other 
camps. Billy Eustace expressed himself well pleased 
with the old saw Norman had filed. 

“ I’ve had fellers work at it for a month,” he 
declared, “ who couldn’t begin to do so good a job.” 

For an hour or more, Norman sat before the desk, 
copying the record of the day’s cut and haul into the 
log-book, and occasionally pausing to give a sugges- 
tion to Fred Warner, who sat on the top of a nail keg 
at one end of the inclined shelf, laboriously trying to 
imitate in his blank book the copy Norman had set 
for him. 

Presently, Norman became conscious of someone 
standing near him, and looking up, found big Pete 
Bedotte regarding him intently. 

“ Anything wanted, Pete?” 

“ Yass. Gass I have wan leetle plug chewing-tobac 
for put on ma mout\” 

Norman rose up from the desk and opened one of 
the wangan chests. Taking from it a long strip of 
black-colored tobacco, he sliced off a two-inch piece 
with the cutter and made an entry on the wangan 
book. 

He glanced awry at the big Frenchman — who 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 241 


promptly bit off a big piece from his new plug — and 
then locking up the big chest, returned to the desk and 
resumed his work. 

Presently he and Fred were gathered about the stove 
with “ Pokerface ” Tapley, “ Deacon ” Peters, Jim 
Benner and Billy Eustace. Big Pete Bedotte, having 
exchanged his cud for a pipe, was also favoring the 
members of the beaver house with his presence. 

“ Yass,” he was saying, as the boys pulled their 
seats into the circle. “ Dat wan grande load. W’en 
we got where dat road was go oop, we tak’ off som’ 
dose t’ings — som’ quarterre beef an’ noder Pings. I 
hide me bellin’ som’ box w’at ban full wit’ crackerre. 
Prattee soon fox he com’ sneak down off dat reedge, 
so sly lak nevaire was. Win’ she blow jus’ rat way, 
so he couldn’t ban for smell on me. He com’ rat oop. 
He poke hees nose round cornerre dat box. Ba cripe! 
I grab ma gun. I smash hees face rat een.” 

“ You’d better bought a dog, Pete,” remarked 
Benner. 

“ I tole you ’bout wan fir-r-s rat dog w’at I own 
me wan tarn’,” said Pete, responding with enthusiasm 
to the suggestion. “ Ma dog she name ’Poleon. He 
wan — w’at you say ? — er retrieverre. He sweem on 
de waterre. He tak’ som’ nice, fat duck, w’at I shoot 
in hees mout’. He breeng dem on ma foot, an’ wag 
hees tail. Ba gosh! Dat mos’ cleveres’ dog w’at I 
nevaire saw me. Wan day I go for hunt. Tak’ 
’Poleon wit’ me. Mon Dieu! how glad dat leetle dog 


242 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


was ban. He jomp me all around. He scratch oop 
de dirt on hees toe. He bark heemse’f on hees face. 
He steeck oop hees tail jus’ lak wan flag-pole. He 
race all ’round in wood jus’ lak he ban crazee! 

“ Prattee soon I com’ wit’ mase’f w’ere reever skeep 
down de beeg ledge an’ mak’ wan grande pool — so 
clear jus’ lak it was ban on wan deepper. I look down. 
See ev’yt’ing jus’ lak wan meerror. All de nice clean 
leetle rock on bottom — an’ wan honder — mebbe two 
— de bes’ leetle trout w’at I evaire was saw. I tole 
you dey was ban beeg fellaire. Som’ weigh dem mos’ 
two poun’ ’leven inches — mebbe more. Ba cripe ! 
Dey was make me waterre on ma mout’. 

“ I say me, I t’ink I put som’ dem trout in fire, an’ 
fry dem on pan. So I tak’ wan steeck dynamite out 
me pocquette. I light me de waterre-proof fuse. I 
t’row eet in waterre. Ba tonder ! dat leetle dog ’Poleon 
he jomp rat een prattee queeck. He sweem w’ere dat 
steeck dynamite ban. I hollar jus’ loud w’at I can: 
* Sapre! Com’ back, ’Poleon; w’at for you go for dat? 
Com’ back, you leetle rascal ! Com’ back, you ! ’ 

“ He ban so excite he pay no attention for what I 
say. He kep’ rat on. He grab dynamite een hees 
mout’. He sweem for shore. Monjee! I was ban 
scare. I nearly tak’ de fit. ‘ Go back, ’Poleon ! Go 
back! ’ I yell; but, ba Joe! he feel so nice he kep’ rat 
on. Hees leetle eye all shine — he t’ink he do me wan 
smart treeck. Ba golly! I t’ink ma time was come. 
Dat ’Poleon reach de shore. I geeve me wan grande 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 243 


yell. I feel I was los’. Ma hair stan’ oop rat top ma 
hat. I ronne, but dat ’Poleon com’ affer jus’ fas’ he 
can. I jomp on win’ fall. He skeep heem rat under. 
I know dat fuse was mos’ burn off. Merci! I jomp 
bellin’ beeg hemlock. I close ma eye. I say ma 
prayer. Prattee queeck come wan grande, beeg roar 
jus’ lak tonderre. I fall on groun’. I t’ink I ban dead 
man for sure. Bamby I open ma eye. I peek me rat 
out behin’ dat tree. Ba gar! I ban so glad for be 
alive I jomp on top ma foot. I shout ‘ Hooraw ! ’ Den 
I was dance, an’ laugh, an’ cry me upon ma eye. An’ 
’Poleon? Monjee! Poor leetle fellaire! I was nev- 
aire see heem agen. He ban scatter heemse’f all roun’ 
ovaire dat townsheep. I nevaire even found me so 
moche wan leetle hair on top hees tail.” 

The members of the group made it clear to Pete 
that they were duly impressed with the harrowing 
fate of little dog ’Poleon, and presently the big fellow 
started to leave the beaver house. With his hand on 
the door, he paused, arrested by a sudden thought, 
and slowly came back to the group around the stove. 

“ You got wan leetle lantern, M’sieu Carvarre, w’at 
you light wit’ you feenger ? ” he asked. 

“ I have something that answers a little to that 
description,” returned Norman. 

“ You jus’ soon I ban see heem?” 

“ Certainly.” 

Norman rose from his seat and pulled his canvas 
extender from under the bench at the foot of his bunk. 


244 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


He opened it, rummaged about for a few moments, 
and then gave vent to a low whistle of dismay. 

“Anything wrong?” asked Eustace. 

“ I’ve been robbed, that’s all,” responded Norman. 
“ My electric pocket-lantern, my hunting-knife, and my 
compass are all gone.” 

“ Ba cripe ! I gass we hav’ wan beeg t’ief on de 
camp,” declared Pete. 

“ Looks that way,” coincided Eustace, whose face 
looked decidedly disturbed and anxious. “ This is 
something new in Camp 4. Look a little further, 
Norman, and see if you miss anything else.” 

“ Air ye sartin sure ye put thet ere stuff in the 
extender ? ” asked Benner, in a skeptical tone. 

“ I’m sure of it,” declared Norman, positively. 
“You remember, Ike, I showed you that electric lan- 
tern just as I was putting it away. You had it in 
your hand, while I was cutting off that tobacco for 
Pat Farrow.” 

“ That’s a fact,” corroborated Tapley. 

“ By Jim Hill ! ” exclaimed Eustace, who had been 
running his eye over the contents of the camp. “ That 
isn’t all he stole, either.” 

“ What else is gone ? ” inquired “ Deacon ” Peters, 
aroused from his customary reticence by the unwonted 
excitement of the occasion. 

“ Well, my Winchester rifle, for one thing,” returned 
the camp boss, in a perturbed voice. “ She was here 
this morning. Where’s your shotgun, Carver ? ” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 245 


“ Gone,” reported Norman, with a glance at the 
corner behind the bunk, where he had last stood it. 

“ Ba golly ! dat mos’ ban beeg t’ief for lug so 
moche ! ” exclaimed Pete. 

“ Where’s Harry McMurray’s extra pair o’ snow- 
shoes ? ” inquired Benner. 

“ I don’t know,” declared Eustace. “ Didn’t he take 
them along with him ? ” 

“ No,” said Tapley. “ I was in here about seven 
o’clock, to get some tobacco I’d left, and I remember 
seeing ’em hanging on that peg by the door. There 
was a rivet out o’ the hind part o’ one, an’ I remember 
o’ thinkin’ es how I’d put it back the first chance I 
got.” 

“ That tells the story,” declared Eustace. “ Some- 
one has lifted ’em. When were you out, Norman?” 

“ I was in blacksmith shop with Ike for an hour or 
so, after you left. Following that, I came back and 
worked here an hour or more. Then I went down to 
the landing to get some water and see Farrow and 
Jim roll a load of logs onto the landing.” 

“ What did Farrow do after he unloaded his logs? ” 

“ Went right back to the yard again. I stopped and 
chatted a few minutes with Jim, and then I came back 
here. Of course I was out again at dinner-time — 
perhaps a half an hour.” 

“ Whoever stole this stuff must have done so either 
when you were in the blacksmith shop or on the land- 
ing. It was a mighty nervy piece of work, and the 


246 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


infernal scoundrel certainly seems to have got away 
with it.” 

Eustace paused, his jaws came together with a snap, 
and there was a determined gleam in his blue eyes. 

“ I’m going to get to the bottom of this business,” 
he announced, with quiet decision, “ if it takes my 
winter’s pay.” 


CHAPTER XIX 


NORMAN UNDER SUSPICION 

Great excitement was created among the men in the 
big camp, when Pete Bedotte brought the news of 
the astounding thefts that had been committed in the 
beaver house. 

There was an immediate overhauling of personal 
effects which only resulted in showing that the mis- 
creant, whoever he might be, had not ventured into 
the big camp, where he would have stood a chance of 
being seen by Felix Lamar re or Fred Warner. 

Having relieved their minds as to the safety of their 
own property the men sat round upon the bunks and 
deacon seats and discussed the occurrence. Indigna- 
tion ran high against the rascal who had perpetrated 
the outrage, and he would have fared hard at that 
moment had he fallen into the hands of these rough 
and excited woodsmen. 

“ A man who would do a thing like that,” declared 
Pat Farrow, with an oath, “ ain’t fit to lug bones to 
a bear,” and it was very evident that he voiced the 
sentiment of the camp. 

For several days after this a sharp lookout was kept 
for further depredations, but none occurred. 

247 


248 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ I surmise es how it might a-b’en some feller from 
th’ back settlement,” declared Jim Benner, as the mys- 
tery came up for its usual discussion in the beaver 
house one evening. 

“ How’d he come here? ” demanded Eustace, incred- 
ulously. 

“ Drove down probably t’ sell some oats. Found 
no one round. Gathered up what he could V cleared 
out.” 

“ Yes,” said Norman, “ but how do you account for 
his opening up my extender, and taking out that com- 
pass and electric lantern? If it had been some fellow 
driving in on the tote-road he wouldn’t have stopped 
to pick out special articles. He’d have taken the whole 
thing.” 

“ Sure es preachin’,” agreed Ike Tapley. “ The 
fact, too, thet he took them particular things leads me 
t’ suspect thet he knew ye had ’em ’n’ thet they was in 
your extender.” 

“ You’re right, Ike,” declared Eustace, with con- 
viction. “ I’m well satisfied that the thief is right 
here in this crew; but where the dickens he could ’a’ 
stowed away all that plunder is what beats me.” 

“ The best thing t’ do is jest t’ lay low for a spell,” 
declared Jim Benner, oracularly. “ Murder will out, 
ye know, ’n’ sooner or later we’re sartin sure t’ ketch 
thet cuss, ’n’ bring ’im up with a good, round turn.” 

This view of the situation was the one that prevailed 
with the crew. Every one was on the alert to find 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 249 


some clue to the thief. Meanwhile no one in the crew 
felt quite sure of his neighbor, and every man had an 
uncomfortable feeling that he was being watched. 

Days came and went, however, with no further 
depredations, and the episode dropped gradually out 
of mind. 

Norman had become so proficient in saw-filing that 
practically all of this work had fallen to him. This 
had gone on for nearly a fortnight before any of the 
sawyers found it out. When they discovered it, how- 
ever, they immediately sent Pierre Daviau to Billy 
Eustace to enter a complaint. 

“ Dat leetle fellaire don’ know how for file saw,” 
he declared. “ Ba Joe! Eet ban jus’ lak’ cuttin’ down 
tree wit’ r-rat-tail file.” 

“ When did you first notice that the saws weren’t 
cutting good ? ” demanded Eustace, calmly. 

" Yes’day morning, when dat leetle fellaire was file 
dem.” 

“ Hadn’t noticed anything wrong before — had 
you ? ” 

“ No.” 

Eustace slowly looked the short Frenchman over 
from head to foot with a cynical and commiserating 
glance that made him feel decidedly uncomfortable. 

“ Pierre,” announced the camp boss, solemnly. 
“ You’re a great, big bluff. Didn’t you know that 
Carver’s been filing them saws for the past two or 
three weeks ? ” 


2 5 o ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ N-No,” admitted Pierre. 

“ Didn’t you know — hadn’t you heard — that he is 
the crack saw-filer in the State? Get a move on you. 
Quit your jokin’. Don’t try that thin dodge to explain 
why Bonnefont’s crew’s gettin’ ahead of you.” 

“ Ba gosh ! M’sieu Eustace, we beat Bonnefont 
more as tree quarter de tarn,” protested Pierre. 

“ I don’t know about that,” said Eustace, doubt- 
fully. “ They think they’ve got you winded.” 

“Monjee! We mak’ dem jomp for see us ’t all,” 
declared Pierre, with some warmth. 

“ We’ll see! We’ll see! ” was Billy’s non-committal 
answer. “ Now get into the game. Drop your bluff- 
ing and fell trees.” 

“ Ba cripe! You ban mak’ me for be wan beeg 
fool,” reported Pierre to his coadjutors. “ Dat leetle 
fellaire ban wan grande man for file saw. He ban 
work een beeg saw-factory before he was come here.” 

This glowing, if not strictly accurate, report was 
enough to establish Norman’s standing as a saw filer, 
and thereafter no complaints attended his efforts in 
that direction. 

Fred Warner had devoted every spare minute to 
the improvement of his handwriting, and Norman was 
both surprised and gratified at the rapid progress he 
had made. 

As the winter advanced the yarding operations came 
gradually to an end. More teams were added and 
the jangle of bells could be heard at frequent intervals 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 251 


during the day as the big caravan of wagon-sleds, 
coming from the yard and piled high with spruce logs, 
drew up in front of the landing to add their contribu- 
tions to its rapidly growing bulk. 

Rivalry between the different teams was keen, par- 
ticularly those owned by the company, whose special 
duty it was to act as pace-makers for the others. 

“Jus’ you look on top dat load! Ba Joe! dat fel- 
laire don’ haul wood enough for cook hees tea.” “ I 
t’ink you ban afraid for break you sled.” “ Jus’ put 
you horses on top you load, ba gosh, I tow you een.” 

With these and similar railleries the company’s 
teamsters urged the men who drove their own horses 
to haul as many logs as they did. 

The great water-cart toiled laboriously over the 
route several times a day until the road presented a 
surface as hard and smooth as a house floor. More- 
over, men were stationed at intervals along the way 
to fill in promptly any little depression that might 
occur, and thereby keep conditions as favorable as 
possible for the hauling of heavy loads. Some of the 
men were permitted to go after hauling commenced, 
as, with the close of yarding operations, their services 
were no longer needed. 

But while the crew was smaller, life at the camp 
became more animated as the teamsters, the landing 
tenders, and part of the swampers employed on the 
road now took their dinners there. 

The oat house was kept constantly full, and as Nor- 


252 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


man looked upon it with its overhanging front, made 
by extending the roof some feet beyond the end, and 
its interior heaped high with the straw-colored grain, 
he sometimes wondered at the astounding capacity 
possessed by the woods horses for the stowing away 
of provender. 

Norman had made a number of Sunday trips through 
the big woods with Fred Warner, and had become so 
familiar with the general topography of the country, 
and so expert in the use of compass and snow-shoes, 
that he occasionally ventured out alone. He had also 
made a number of very creditable little barrels, which 
he had filled with choice spruce gum of his own pick- 
ing, in readiness for his return home. 

It was well into the middle of February when Felix 
Lamarre made the astonishing discovery that some- 
one had been raiding his provisions, which were stored 
in the dingle. A careful watch was at once set for 
the thief; but without success. Indeed he seemed to 
become bolder, as the men became more excited over 
his depredations, and eager to effect his capture. 
Articles began to disappear from the men’s camp in 
a most unaccountable manner — the climax being 
reached one day when it was found that the treas- 
ured banjo owned by the men, and which Norman 
had frequently played for them of an evening, had 
mysteriously disappeared. 

The following morning, when Vede Pelotte went 
out to feed his horses, he found it necessary to shovel 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 253 


some of the oats from the rear part of the oat house, 
and in so doing unearthed the missing instrument. 
The discovery was an important one for it showed 
where the thief had stored his plunder. Billy Eustace 
immediately set one of the swampers to work shovel- 
ing over the oat pile with the result that a number of 
pounds of pork; three hams; two sides of bacon; half 
a dozen cans of condensed milk, and a quantity of tea, 
coffee and sugar, which had evidently been stolen from 
the camp stores, and several articles of clothing which 
had been taken from the men, were brought to light. 

“ I deserve to be kicked to death by grasshoppers 
for not thinking of that place before,” declared Eus- 
tace that evening by the stove in the beaver house. 
“ It’s about the only place around the camp where a 
man could put anything and be real sure it was out of 
sight.” 

“ An' not any too safe there,” said Jim Benner, 
“ considerin’ the way our oat piles air vanishing.” 

“ Safer than you think,” asserted Ike Tapley. “ It’s 
evident that the oat pile hes be’n only a short-time 
hiding place for the cuss es is doin’ the stealin’. These 
things we found to-day were his latest pickin’s; th’ 
very last run o’ shad. He hadn’t found a chance to 
take ’em to his preserve — wherever that may be.” 

“ You’re right, Ike,” declared Eustace. “ Fred,” 
he added, “ I wish you’d go over to the men’s camp 
and ask Sol Soc to come in here.” 

“ Sol,” he asked, a little later when the Indian had 


254 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


put in an appearance. “ When you’ve been cruising 
the woods of a Sunday have you run on to any gum- 
mers or trappers camping within easy distance of this 
camp? ” 

“ Two men trap Beaver Tail stream.” 

“ Well, that’s fifteen miles from here and no road. 
I don’t believe they’ve been sacking stuff from here 
on snow-shoes.” 

“ No. Good men. Buyum own stuff,” said Sol. 

“ You don’t think they could possibly have drifted 
over here, and lifted the stuff we’ve lost?” 

“ No. T’ief in camp. Mebbe me catchum bimeby.” 

“ I guess you’re right, Sol. We’ve got the skunk in 
our own nest somewhere; but when we shake ’im out 
there’ll be a killing.” 

While this conversation was going on, Norman, 
seated by the camp desk, had improved the opportunity 
to read anew a letter which Vede Pelotte had brought 
him the night before from his father. One passage 
particularly interested him. 


“Simon Paddock called at my office, yesterday,” 
wrote the General, “and was anxious to get your 
address. He said he regretted very much the 
part he had played in the Horton house affair, 
and wanted to write and tell you how sorry he 
was. I am informed that the boys he formerly 
associated with have ostracised him, and I fancy 
he has paid dearly for his treachery in the uncom- 
fortable life he has led since. Boys are too apt 
to be uncharitable. It is better to forgive and 
forget. I shouldn’t wonder if you received a 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 255 


letter from Simon asking your pardon for the 
trouble he has made you. If so, I trust you will 
be broad enough to deal generously with him.” 

“ The sneak! ” reflected Norman, bitterly. “ Father 
doesn’t know him. He thinks he is penitent, and has 
given him my address ! I’m sure he didn’t want it for 
any good purpose.” 

The truth of this judgment was fully established the 
next evening, when Billy Eustace had a fire built in 
the scalers’ house, which was temporarily vacant, and 
called Norman in there for a very serious conference. 

It was evident that the camp boss was not a little 
disturbed in his mind. 

“ Carver,” he said, abruptly, handing Norman a 
Boston newspaper, “ is that marked article true ? ” 

Norman’s heart sank within him. He recognized 
the article bordered in blue lead-pencil as a rather lurid 
and somewhat sensational account of the Horton house 
affair, which had been printed in a well-known publi- 
cation of the “ yellow ” variety. 

He read it slowly and carefully, although it was 
already familiar to him, and every word of it seemed 
to burn itself into his mind in letters of fire. 

“ It’s substantially correct in what it states, and 
wholly wrong in what it infers,” he said, handing it 
back to Eustace, when he had finished. 

“ So you broke into a man’s house — and are here 
in hiding, are you ? ” demanded Eustace, in a tone of 
incredulity. 


256 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Yes and no/' returned Norman. “ Some of the 
boys in my school who were out on a lark one night 
were foolish enough to swipe — ” 

“ We call it steal up this way,” interposed Eustace, 
sternly. 

“ A suit of ancient armor which was in a man’s 
house, and dress up the statue of the school founder 
in it,” continued Norman, ignoring the interruption. 
“ I was one of them. It was a silly performance and 
kicked up quite a row. One of the fellows who was 
with us gave us away. We were brought into the 
police court; but the judge let us go with a repri- 
mand.” 

Eustace looked at him with a troubled face. 

“ I was brought up in an old-fashioned way,” he 
said, slowly. “ I never had much time to play. The 
members of my family had to scratch too hard to get 
something to eat to find time for any ‘ larks ’ as you 
call them. If a man had broken into another man’s 
house and taken his property in my neighborhood, we 
should have called him a thief.” 

Norman turned and faced him with burning cheeks. 

“ Surely, Mr. Eustace,” he said, incredulously, “ you 
can’t — you don’t think — ” 

“ I don’t know what to think,” interrupted Eustace. 
“ You confess that you broke into and entered a man’s 
house; that one of your confederates turned State’s 
evidence; but that in some way you got clear of the 
charge. Now, before you came here, stealing was 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 257 


practically unknown in this camp; but you had only 
been here a short time before things began to disap- 
pear. You were one of the few persons connected 
with the crew that had any opportunity to commit 
thefts, for your duties kept you about the camp while 
the men were away in the woods.” 

“ But I was the first, and have been the heaviest 
loser, by them,” protested Norman, who was fairly 
dazed by the suspicions entertained by Eustace. “ Do 
you know what it means to insinuate a thing like 
that?” he cried, hotly. “Do you think I will submit 
to be unjustly accused and vilified ? ” 

“ I haven’t accused you,” returned Eustace, coldly. 
“ I have just stated some mighty strange coincidences, 
to see if you could tell me any connection between 
them.” 

“ Well, I can’t,” declared Norman, with emphasis, 
“ and what’s more, the Lakeland Lumber Company 
has just as much reason to suspect you of this crime 
as it has me.” 

“ I think not,” returned Eustace. “ I never broke 
into a man’s house, and I never was in court to answer 
to a charge of theft.” 

“ Have you the wrapper in which the paper came ? ” 
demanded Norman. 

“ Yes,” said Eustace, taking it from his pocket. “ I 
thought it might be well to hang on to it a spell.” 

It was a sheet of ordinary manila addressed to 
“ The Foreman of Camp 4, Care Lakeland Lumber 


258 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


Co., Gamewood, Maine.” Norman could not restrain 
an exclamation of anger and disgust as he recognized 
the scrawly handwriting of Simon Paddock. 

“ Know where it comes from ? ” asked Eustace. 

“Yes — from the cur who was foremost in plan- 
ning the lark I told you of, and then gave us all away 
to save himself. He went to father the other day and 
pretended that he was very sorry and wanted to write 
me an apology. Father gave |iim my address, and 
this is what has come of it.” 

“ He's certainly a yellow pup, all right,” declared 
Eustace, “ but that doesn’t change the situation.” 

“ Mr. Eustace,” said Norman, in a voice that trem- 
bled with emotion, “if you are determined to think 
me a thief, I don’t suppose I can prevent it; but I give 
you fair warning that I will hold you responsible if 
you attempt to put that brand upon me with the crew. 
The very suggestion is as false as it is preposterous 
and insulting. The publication of such an unreason- 
able and unwarranted suspicion would be a criminal 
libel.” 

“ I’d give a hundred dollars this minute, Carver, 
poor as I am, to feel sure that what you say is true,” 
returned Eustace, with deep feeling. 

He paused and walked up and down the small camp 
with quick, nervous strides. It was evident that he 
was in deep distress of mind. 

“ I don’t want to suspect any man unfairly,” he said, 
presently, pausing in front of Norman, “least of all, 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 259 


you; but these are the facts. They don’t look right. 
Understand, though, I haven’t made any charges and 
I don’t intend to. I’m going to wait developments a 
spell. It’s an old saying that murder will out. If 
you’re innocent in this matter, as I hope you are, I 
reckon you won’t have any trouble in proving it before 
log-driving time. If you do I shall be the happiest 
man in Camp 4.” 

“ Use your own judgment a little, Mr. Eustace/’ 
urged Norman, in a softer tone. “ What possible use 
would I have for any of the truck that’s been stolen ? ” 
“ I don’t know,” admitted Eustace. “ I can’t see 
what use it would be to any of the crew. Looks as if 
someone was stealing for the pure cussedness of it.” 

“ Do you think I would voluntarily deprive myself 
of my shotgun, lantern, and my compass ? ” 

“ It wouldn’t seem so,” conceded Eustace, “ unless, 
of course, you wanted to divert suspicion.” 

“ Who first discovered these thefts ? ” 

“ You did.” 

“ And reported them immediately — didn’t I ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Here is fifty dollars my father gave me when I 
left home. He called it my emergency fund,” said 
Norman, pulling a roll of bills from his pocket. “ I 
haven’t spent a cent of it. I haven’t even spent the 
loose change I had in my pocket when I started from 
home. What possible need have I had of the things 
that were lost at this camp ? ” 


260 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ I can’t conceive,” declared Eustace, gloomily. “ I 
think we better drop the matter. Come,” he added, 
turning towards the door, “ let’s go back to the beaver 
house.” 


CHAPTER XX 


CLOUTER KELTY HAS AN UNPLEASANT SURPRISE 

It has always puzzled lumbermen and others to 
account in full for the wireless telegraphy of the 
woods. In a large measure the events of civilization 
become a sealed book in the heart of the wilderness. 
Reports of wars and rumors of wars, earthquakes, 
strikes, and death-dealing disasters travel very slowly, 
and arouse very little interest in the deep recesses of 
the forest. With the events of the forest itself, how- 
ever, it is very different. The news of them seems to 
defy the barriers of time and space. It travels the 
vast solitudes with incredible speed, possessing, appar- 
ently, the power and reach of mental telepathy. 

Let a big moose be killed, a poacher be caught by 
the game wardens, or the life of a logger be crushed 
out by a falling tree, and in an amazingly short time 
the news of the occurrence is known in the remotest 
corners of the wilderness, and becomes the topic of 
conversation around every camp-fire within a hundred 
mile radius. 

Something of this subtle power of woods communi- 
cation was revealed to Norman the morning following 
his interview in the scalers' camp with Billy Eustace* 
261 


262 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


He was conscious, as he came into the cook’s camp 
to breakfast, of a decided change in the previously 
friendly attitude of the crew. Before they had been 
accustomed to greet him with cordial nods. Now he 
looked upon scowling and averted faces. He was 
sensible, too, of an atmosphere of restraint that was 
vastly more chilling than the cold winds that came 
roaring across the lake surface to whistle through the 
woods and bend the tall tree-tops outside the camp. 

There were, it is true, one or two exceptions to the 
rule of treatment accorded him by the members of the 
crew. Sol Soc actually smiled upon him in the hearti- 
ness of his nod, and big Pete Bedotte shook him by 
the hands with ostentatious and effusive warmth. Fred 
Warner and Jud Skinner also greeted him with their 
customary cordial smiles. Norman felt instinctively 
that whatever might come up these friends at least 
would be loyal to him. 

Eustace, gloomy and preoccupied, sat at the head 
of the table. The camp boss was no actor, and Nor- 
man, keenly sensitive, was conscious that the nod he 
received from him was lacking in its usual warmth. 
He was convinced that Billy, in spite of the tacit under- 
standing between them, had been guilty of communi- 
cating his suspicion to the crew, and a feeling of bitter- 
ness filled his heart at the injustice of such treatment. 

Few words were spoken during the meal. At its 
close the men left the camp with scarcely a glance 
in the direction of Norman — a coldly contemptuous 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 263 


treatment that cut the proud spirit of the boy to the 
very quick. 

As he was passing out of the dingle one of the 
swampers brushed roughly by him. The man had lost 
several articles of clothing, and Norman was not sur- 
prised to hear him growl “ thief ! ” in tones distinctly 
audible to the men about them. 

To Norman this open naming of the suspicion that 
had shown in the faces of the men was almost a relief; 
but to the man it was an unfortunate break. With a 
bound Sol Soc grasped him about the waist and, swing- 
ing him over his shoulder, hurled him head-first upon 
the big snowdrift that banked the camp, and in which 
he sank almost from sight. 

For a moment the Indian stood glowering upon the 
men about him, his eyes blazing a challenge which none 
of them cared to accept. One by one they filed past 
him in sullen silence and made their way to the horse 
hovels, where presently the man who had been thrown 
into the snow-bank, having extricated himself from his 
cold bath, followed wrathfully after them. 

When he had passed from sight, the Indian turned 
to Norman with a softened expression in his eyes. 

“ Keepum up brave,” he said, briefly. “You good 
boy. Come ’Ion all fine,” and having thus delivered 
himself, he stalked away to the landing, where he was 
serving as an assistant to Jim Benner. 

Norman, his face flushed from the indignities he 
had suffered, and his heart bitter with the feeling that 


264 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


he had been unfairly treated, was about to go to the 
beaver house when he felt a restraining touch upon 
his shoulder. He turned to meet the outstretched hand 
of Fred Warner, which closed upon his in a warm 
clasp. 

“ It’s indecent, the way the men used you this morn- 
ing,” declared the cookee, indignantly, “ but don’t for- 
get, old man, that you have some warm friends here 
yet, and what’s more we mean to see you through.” 

Norman choked a little. 

“ Thank you, Fred,” he said, after a pause, con- 
trolling his voice with an effort. “ A friend in need 
is a friend indeed. Oh, it is mean, it is despicable to 
come at me in the way they have without rhyme or 
reason,” he continued, vehemently. “ I should never 
have thought it possible. Ah ! they would like to drive 
me away from camp under this cloud; but I won’t go, 
Fred. I’m going to stay with them till I make them 
see and acknowledge the asinine mistake they’ve made. 
I never looked for such usage from Billy Eustace.” 

Fred Warner looked at him in surprise. 

“ Why, what has Billy done ? ” he asked. 

“ Reported me to the crew as a — a thief,” replied 
Norman, bitterly. 

“ I think you’re mistaken there,” declared Fred. “ I 
don’t think he’s mentioned the matter to anyone. I 
was in the men’s camp while you and he were having 
your interview, and no one spoke of having heard any- 
thing of the kind from him. Besides, I know that he 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 265 


did not leave the beaver house after I returned to it, 
and you’ve just seen him hurry away into the woods 
ahead of the men, without saying a word to any of 
them. Looks to me as if he wasn’t in a talking 
mood.” 

“ How did the men learn that he suspected me of 
being the camp thief, if he didn’t tell them ? ” demanded 
Norman, in a tone of incredulity. 

“ In several ways,” responded Fred. “ In the first 
place, after that banjo was taken, the idea was sug- 
gested among them that, inasmuch as you were the 
only man in camp who could play it, you would be the 
only one who could have any reason for — for — ” 

“ Stealing it,” completed Norman, as Fred hesitated. 

Fred nodded. 

“ Of course,” he continued, “ they all knew that Billy 
Eustace was holding a private confab with you in the 
scalers’ camp — and then on top of the rest came Bap- 
tiste Groder’s dream.” 

“ Oh ! So Baptiste had a dream, did he ? ” 

“ So he says — a dream in which he distinctly saw 
you climb into the upper bunk, take down the bag 
containing the banjo in broad daylight, and make off 
with it.” 

“ But surely the men wouldn’t take any stock in 
dreams ! ” exclaimed Norman, in amazement. 

“ You don’t know them yet,” said Fred. “ Loggers 
are funny fellows. They believe in lots of things that 
would seem terribly silly to you and me; but which 


266 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


are very real to them. They are the most superstitious 
fellows you ever saw. Ghosts, witches, haunts, gob- 
lins, and a hundred different omens of good or ill luck, 
are all very real to them. They are not afraid of any- 
thing living, but anything that seems to partake of the 
supernatural fills them with terror. The fellow who 
was cookee for a spell before I came here nearly fright- 
ened Felix into fits.” 

“ How was that? ” 

“ He took a dead rabbit one of the men had snared, 
tied it onto the end of a broom, and then made a skirt 
of a blanket, wrapping it about the broom so that the 
rabbit’s head just barely protruded above it. They 
said bunny’s eyes were wide open, and I imagine the 
outfit was terribly gruesome. He leaned it up against 
the inside of the door to the cook’s camp, and when 
Felix opened it, on his return from a trip to the bean 
hole, the whole thing tumbled out on him. He nearly 
went crazy; hollered like a loon; raced through the 
woods to where one of the crews was yarding with his 
hair on end, and made the cold chills creep up and down 
the boys’ backbones by swearing that he’d positively 
had a visit from the devil. He was pretty mad when 
some of the men went back with him and showed up 
the joke. The cookee got his walking papers, forth- 
with; but it was more than a fortnight before Felix 
dared to sleep alone again.” 

“ So you think that alleged dream of Baptiste’s car- 
ried weight, do you?” demanded Norman. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 267 


“ I know it did,” declared Fred. “ They regarded 
it as an omen.” 

Norman shook his head, incredulously. 

“ It doesn’t seem possible,” he said. “ Moreover, 
I don’t believe he had any such dream. The idea that 
I would have a special motive in stealing the banjo, 
and this so-called dream, were, I believe, suggestions 
emanating from the same source.” 

“ You think some one is putting it up on you? ” 

“ I know that one enemy of mine was responsible 
for Billy’s suspicions,” returned Norman, “ and I feel 
that another has been stirring up the crew, although 
I venture to say he’s been mighty sly about it.” 

Fred plainly showed his skepticism. 

“ Do you think they are in collusion? ” he asked. 

“ No, but if they had been they couldn’t have acted 
more in concert,” replied Norman. “ One of them 
lives in Boston, and he poisoned Billy Eustace, so far 
as I am concerned, by sending him a paper containing 
an account of a very foolish school scrape in which I 
was concerned. The other is a member of this crew.” 

“ And I think I can guess who he is,” declared Fred. 

“ I think likely you can,” admitted Norman, “ but, 
if so, I wish you would keep your suspicions to your- 
self for the present. Meanwhile, I want you to know 
that I am very grateful to you for the friendship you 
have shown me.” 

“ Don’t mention it,” said Fred, deprecatingly. “ I 
should feel badly if I supposed you thought me foolish 


268 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


enough to harbor such a senseless suspicion against 
you.” 

“ I suppose the men talked it all over among them- 
selves, last night, didn’t they ? ” 

“ Yes. It was reported that you and Billy were 
having a hot time in the scalers’ camp; then Pierre 
Daviau voiced their suspicions about the banjo — after 
which Baptiste sprung his dream. That seemed to the 
men to be a clincher. They began to be quite out- 
spoken when Sol Soc broke loose and shook up the 
dry bones a bit. I never saw Sol exhibit such a gift 
of gab before. He declared that you were a good boy, 
and ended with threatening to provide the material for 
a funeral with anyone who said you were not. Pete 
Bedotte endorsed what Sol said, and declared he’d help 
him polish off any man who dared speak a word against 
you. Jud Skinner wasn’t quite so warlike; but he 
asserted very emphatically that you were all right, as 
straight as a string, and expressed the opinion that any 
man who would be guilty of thinking otherwise must 
have rats in his garret. The combination in your favor 
was strong enough to put a stop on hostile conver- 
sation; but it was evident that, while the men didn’t 
indulge in much talk, they were doing considerable 
thinking. I’m inclined to think the men will be rather 
chary of offering you any affront after what’s hap- 
pened. Big Pete and Sol Soc are a combination they 
won’t want to bump up against.” 

Norman was conscious of a feeling of relief as he 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 269 


returned to the beaver house. It was a satisfaction 
to know that Fred Warner, for whom he had come to 
feel a warm friendship, was not one to misjudge him. 
At the same time all the aggressiveness of his nature 
came to the front, and he determined to stay with the 
situation, disagreeable as it was, until he should be 
able to show the members of the crew how unfounded 
had been the suspicions they harbored against him. 

Arriving at the beaver house, Norman took the water 
pail from the shelf and started for the lake. As he 
passed the long,* low horse hovels he paused abruptly, 
impressed with the force of a new thought. 

In going to the yards in the morning the camp teams 
did not pass the landing; but made their way into the 
main logging-road by a short cut. It was this brief 
stretch of wood-road, used in going from and coming 
to the camp from the yarding places that had attracted 
Norman’s attention. 

Putting down his pail he ran quickly along this way 
until he reached the iced and well-worn thoroughfare 
along which the wagon-sleds, piled high with spruce 
logs, were hauled to the landing. As he reached it 
a team of powerful dapple greys came into view from 
behind a screen of cedars, driven by Clouter Kelty, 
who, as he perceived Norman, brought his horses to 
an abrupt stop. 

“ Hello, Carver,” he said, with an evident attempt 
to be friendly. 

“ Hello,” responded Norman, shortly. 


2 7 o ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Ah, my little bantam,” continued Kelty, in a tone 
that was evidently meant to be conciliatory, “ I’m well 
aware of the fact that you don’t waste any of your 
affections on me. All the same I’m sorry you’re down 
in your luck. It isn’t very complimentary to the heads 
of these fellows that they should lay these thefts to 
you. If they had the brains of a louse they’d know 
better.” 

“ Thanks!” said Norman, dryly. 

“ I’m your friend,” declared Kelty, shooting him a 
furtive glance under his shaggy brows, “ and what’s 
more I’m going to stand by you; bet your life I am.” 

“ You’re very kind,” returned Norman, “ but how 
do you happen to be making your first trip to the yards 
along the lake shore road from the landing? Why 
didn’t you take this short cut from the hovels ? ” 

“ Bound to be suspicious, I see,” returned Kelty, 
testily. “If it will ease your feelings any, though, I 
don’t mind telling you that I first drove down the tote- 
road to the lake to water my horses at the water hole. 
Having done that, it was nearer for me to swing into 
this main road at the landing than it was to come back 
to the camp, and take the cut from the hovels. See ? ” 

“ Yes,” admitted Norman. 

“ Now let me give you some advice,” pursued Kelty. 
“ Don’t let these fellows impose on you. If I was in 
your place I’d just give ’em all the go-by. I’d go 
home, and let ’em sweat. Don’t you think that’s the 
way for you to let ’em down ? ” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 271 


“ I haven’t perfected any plans,” responded Nor- 
man, warily. “ I want to think the matter over first.” 

“ I wouldn’t hang round here a minute to be kicked 
by that bunch of grasshoppers, if I were in your place,” 
declared Kelty, with emphasis. “ I guess it would 
bother Bill Eustace to get another clerk and filer at 
this stage of the game, and it would serve him just 
right if you should pack your grip, and give him the 
merry ha, ha.” 

“ I’ll think about it,” was Norman’s non-committal 
rejoinder. 

“ I wouldn’t hesitate a minute if I were you,” per- 
sisted Kelty. “ You’ve got the whip-row in this mat- 
ter, if you’ve only got nerve enough to make the most 
of it,” and with this parting declaration, he -started up 
his horses, and was soon lost from sight round a curve 
in the road. 

“ The infamous scoundrel ! ” thought Norman, 
wrathfully, as he stood looking after him. “ He 
wants to be rid of me, and thinks I’m not bright 
enough to see through it. Run away, and practically 
confess myself a thief! The idea! No — no, Mr. 
Clouter Kelty, you can’t get rid of me so easily.” 

Stepping into the main road, Norman went a few 
steps in the direction from which Kelty and his team 
had put in an appearance. Pausing he surveyed this 
piece of road with critical care. A short distance away 
he could hear the voices of Jim Benner and Sol Soc 
at work upon the landing; but a fringe of spruce and 


272 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 

fir-trees, which grew upon the side of the road next to 
the lake shore, effectually hid them from view. A 
number of cedars and scrubby hemlocks grew upon 
the opposite side of the road, and formed a screen for 
the camps, save where the short cut from the hovels 
intersected it. Standing at this point of juncture Nor- 
man looked back upon the scraggly collection of log 
huts and hovels — built of unpeeled logs of irreg- 
ular length — which together constituted “ the camp.” 
First came the oat house piled high with its straw- 
colored burden; beyond this the horse hovels; then 
the beaver house and scalers’ camp ; and opposite them, 
the long, low camps, with intervening dingle, which 
constituted the sleeping quarters of the men, and the 
domain wherein the cook, Felix Lamarre, held undis- 
puted sway. 

“ The rascal!” muttered Norman. “I see it all 
now. His team has always tailed the procession. 
He’d stop his horses back here where they’d be out of 
sight of both the landing and the camp. Then he’d 
sneak ahead and watch. If he caught me going for 
water, or saw that the coast was otherwise clear, he’d 
streak down that short-cut road from the hovels, gather 
in what plunder he could or any that he might have* 
hidden over night in the oat pile, and be back and away 
without anyone seeing or suspecting him. I think I’ll 
watch him just a little closer hereafter.” 

That night Norman laid out a plan of operation 
with Fred Warner. The following morning, after the 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 273 


teamsters had gone, Kelty as usual bringing up the 
rear, and going round by way of the water hole and 
the landing, Norman with a pail on his arm walked 
leisurely down the tote-road towards the lake. No 
sooner was he out of sight of the camps than Clouter 
Kelty put in an appearance round the fringe of cedars 
that screened the camps from the main road, and came 
quickly down the short-cut road to the hovels. Paus- 
ing in front of the oat house, he cast a cautious glance 
about the clearing, and then gave vent to a gleeful 
chuckle. 

“Blast my eyes ! ” he soliloquized, complacently, 
“ but this ’ere hiding-place is better than it was before. 
No one even thinks of looking here now. It doesn’t 
even occur to these ’ere mutton heads that anyone 
would dream of hiding anything here now that it’s 
been exposed.” 

He expanded his broad mouth into a grin that was 
at once spacious and self-satisfied. 

“ My soul ! ” he ejaculated under his breath. “ What 
rich, ripe fruit these mossbacks are ! ” 

He seized a big scoop shovel from the oat pile, and 
with a few rapid swings, laid back the slippery grain 
from a rear corner of the big, covered bin. Then 
reaching down into the hole he had made he pulled 
out a grain bag about one-fourth filled, and carefully 
tied up with a piece of tarred rope. He sat this bur- 
den down for a moment in front of the oat house, and 
then with a few sweeps of his shovel sent the oats 


V 


274 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


sliding back into the corner, filling up the hole he had 
made. Tucking the bag under his arm he was about 
to return to his team when Fred Warner stepped from 
behind the oat house and confronted him. At almost 
the same moment there came the sound of bells, a big 
team of dapple greys swung round the line that con- 
cealed the main road from view, and came leisurely 
down the short cut to the hovels with Norman Carver 
driving them. 



Feed Warner stepped from behind the oat-house and 
confronted him. — Page 274. 





























































































































































CHAPTER XXI 


A MURDEROUS ASSAULT ON JIM BENNER 

For a moment a wolfish glare gleamed from Kelty ’s 
small, round eyes. He looked at Fred Warner like 
a wild animal at bay. Almost immediately, however, 
the look gave way to one of craft, as the nerve and 
daring of the man reasserted themselves. 

“ Hello,” he said, coolly. “ What you trying to 
do, play ghost on me ? ” 

“ No,” responded Fred, somewhat abashed by Kel- 
ty’s unexpected nonchalance, “ I was wondering what 
brought you to the oat house at this time o’ day.” 

“ The company’s business,” declared Kelty, calmly. 
“ I was going to the upper landing, and as I don’t 
expect to be back here at noon I thought I’d carry 
along a feed of oats for my horses. Have you any 
objections? ” 

“ Why, no,” said Fred, feeling decidedly discon- 
certed and uncomfortable. “ Seems to me, though, 
you are taking along a mighty light feed.” 

“ All I want ’em to have when they’re at work,” 
rejoined Kelty. “ Most of these fellows here over- 
feed their horses. What in thunder do you think 
you’re doing with that team ? ” he shouted angrily to 

275 


276 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


Norman, who had brought the big greys to a stand- 
still at the end of the hovel. 

“ I found them on the road without a driver, and 
thought I’d better bring them into camp.” 

“ Well, don’t you ever let me know of your drawing 
a rein over them again,” snapped Kelty. “ I’m driv- 
ing those horses, and I’m entirely capable of taking 
care of them without any of your assistance. See ? ” 

“ I heard you,” returned Norman, quietly. 

“ Well, you’ll mind what I say if you want to keep 
a whole head on your shoulders,” blustered Kelty, his 
face white with passion. “ It’s mighty funny if I can’t 
leave my horses two or three minutes to get a feed of 
oats for them without your butting in.” 

He spread the bag out on the cross bunk, coolly 
seated himself upon it, and swinging the team around 
started back towards the main road. 

“ Say,” he shouted back over his shoulder, “ I’ve 
known boys of your size to pick up considerable money 
by ’tending strictly to their own business.” 

When he was out of sight, the boys stood staring 
at one another, still dazed by the cool audacity of the 
man. 

“How’s that for lion-hearted nerve?” gasped Nor- 
man, presently, breaking the silence. 

“ Never saw anything like it before,” declared Fred. 
“ One thing is sure, though, whatever he had in that 
bag was packed in oats.” 

“ Oh, he’s shrewd enough to take that precaution,” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 277 


conceded Norman. “ You see, now, Fred, just how 
he’s been working it.” 

“ Oh, that’s evident enough,” agreed Warner, “ but 
it isn’t going to be an easy matter for you and me to 
prove it on him. He’ll be mighty wary after this.” 

“ I’ve an idea he won’t linger with us much longer. 
Looks to me as if he’d been laying in supplies for a 
long trip.” 

“ I was thinking of that,” agreed Fred. “ It wouldn’t 
surprise me if he lit out for Canada ’most any day. 
He could easily carry a week’s supplies on his back, 
and eke them out by raiding the deer yards. This 
whole country is full of them.” 

“ I don’t think we’d better say anything about what 
we’ve seen to-day,” said Norman, after a moment’s 
reflection. “ Meanwhile we’ll keep our eyes open, and 
see what we can find out.” 

“ I think that’s a good plan,” acquiesced Fred, and 
a moment later the boys separated, Fred to take up 
his duties in the cook’s camp, and Norman to file the 
saws awaiting him in the beaver house. 

“ How did you happen to send Pat Farrow to the 
upper landing to-day?” asked Jim Benner of Billy 
Eustace, as they sat by the stove that evening. 

“ I didn’t,” returned Eustace. “ I found him up 
there and he said he understood some of the boys to 
say that I wanted him there. I told him it was a 
mistake; but as long as he was there he might as well 
stay, and finish out the day.” 


278 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ If I had my way he’d be tramping down the tote- 
road,” growled Benner. 

“ He’s a good teamster, Jim,” returned Eustace, 
wearily, “ and good men, you know, are scarce.” 

Norman was much gratified to find that Mr. Collins 
had arrived during the night accompanied by Aaron 
Slowman, the land owner’s scaler, who as usual main- 
tained the reputation he enjoyed in the camp of being 
a recluse — the last man to retire at night, and the 
last to turn out in the morning. 

Mr. Collins greeted Norman very cordially when 
they met at breakfast, although he could not help 
seeing the hostile attitude which the men maintained 
towards his protege. 

When the crew had gone, he lingered behind, and 
followed Norman into the beaver house. 

“ I’ve heard all about it. Vede told me,” he said, 
quietly, as Norman lifted a haggard face and looked 
him in the eye. 

“ And you — • ” began Norman. 

“ Don’t believe a word of it,” interrupted the scaler. 
“ It’s preposterous. I told Billy Eustace so this morn- 
ing, and I fancy he isn’t feeling half as sure of him- 
self as he was before.” 

“ But he isn’t so much to blame after all,” said Nor- 
man. “ I got into a bad scrape at home, and there 
was a mean fellow there who sent Billy a paper con- 
taining an account of it. As a result he doesn’t hold 
a very high opinion of me, I fear.” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 279 


“ I knew all about that affair,” returned Mr. Collins. 
“ Your father wrote me the full particulars before you 
came here.” 

“ And you still believe in me? ” questioned Norman, 
eagerly. 

“ Certainly I do,” returned the scaler, with emphasis. 
“ I know that the company hasn’t a more honorable 
fellow in its employ. What’s more, I intend everyone 
else shall know it before we are through with this 
matter.” 

“ Thank you,” said Norman, gratefully. 

“ Now go quietly about your work,” continued the 
scaler, “ and above all don’t worry. Rest assured that 
this matter will come out all right in the end. I shall 
certainly see you through with it.” 

When the scaler had gone to his work on the land- 
ing he left Norman in a much more cheerful frame of 
mind. It was evident that his father’s old friend had 
full faith in him, and he was confident that his assur- 
ance that all would come out right was one not idly 
given. 

That night as they sat about the stove in the beaver 
house, there came a hoarse shout at the door. Nor- 
man made haste to push it open, when Harry McMur- 
ray staggered in with the limp form of Jim Benner in 
his arms. By the dim light of the kerosene lamps it 
was seen that the old man’s face was streaked with 
blood. 

“ Spread a blanket on one of the lower bunks ? ” 


28 o all among the loggers 


ordered McMurray, as the men gathered about him 
with exclamations of horror. “ There’s been bad busi- 
ness here,” he added. “ Looks like murder.” 

Eustace hastened to comply with his request, and 
Benner, moaning feebly, was laid upon the bunk. 

“How did it all happen?” demanded Mr. Collins, 
voicing the question that was on every tongue. 

“ That’s just what I intend to find out,” returned 
McMurray, briskly. “ Go into the cook’s camp, Fred, 
and get me some clean towels, and a basin of hot 
water. I was coming along the tote-road a few min- 
utes ago,” he continued, when Warner had hurried 
away on his errand, “ and just as I got opposite the 
landing I thought I heard someone groan. I hurried 
over there and found Jim stretched out on the logs 
with his face all covered with blood. Looks to me as 
if some one had laid him out with a peavey. Seems 
like a pretty bad clip.” 

At this moment Fred Warner came back into the 
beaver house with a wash-basin full of hot water and 
several towels. 

McMurray produced a roll of iodoform gauze from 
one of his pockets, and, with Mr. Collins standing 
beside him with a lamp, bent over the sufferer, who 
was gasping and moaning incoherently. 

Through the doorway streamed the members of the 
crew, who gazed silently and with white, set faces upon 
the ghastly, blood-stained countenance of the victim. 

“ Looks mighty bad,” said McMurray, presently, as 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 281 


he washed away the blood that oozed from a ragged- 
looking cut above Benner’s forehead. “ I’m afraid his 
skull is broken.” 

A low, angry murmur came from the crew at this 
announcement. 

Picking up his gauze roll, the walking boss proceeded 
to swathe Benner’s head in the numerous layers of a 
rough bandage. “ There,” he announced, rising to his 
feet, “ that’s the best I can do now. Who was work- 
ing with this man on the landing ? ” 

Me,” said Sol Soc, stepping forward from the 
group of men in which he stood. 

“ When did you leave him ? ” 

“ Me leaveum come supper,” explained the Indian. 
“ He say he markum one two more log, den he come.” 

“ Did you hear any outcry ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Where’s your peavey ? ” 

“ In dingle.” 

“You brought it back with you?” 

“ Eet ban stan’ on door,” corroborated Baptiste Gro- 
der. “ I ban saw heem put eet dere.” 

“ Go and get it,” commanded McMurray. 

Baptiste hurried away, and a moment later reap- 
peared with the peavey. McMurray examined it criti- 
cally by the light of the lamp which Mr. Collins held 
for him to assist his inspection. 

“ This isn’t the one that did the business,” he 
announced, in a tone of relief. 


282 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ You no thinkum me hurt ole Jim? ” questioned the 
Indian, in a grieved tone. “ We big frien’s.” 

“ So I thought,” assented McMurray, “ but I’m 
going to sift this matter to the bottom whether any of 
you feel hurt or not.” 

“ Hoi’ on ! Ba cripe, you stay rat w’ere you ban,” 
shouted big Pete Bedotte, interposing his bulky form 
in the doorway as Farrow attempted to brush past him. 
“ I t’ink you ban las’ fellaire w’at unload on top dat 
landin’.” 

“ Is that so ? ” demanded McMurray, turning his 
keen glance upon the driver of the dapple greys. 

“ Sure,” admitted Farrow. “ I usually close up the 
procession. The Indian was there when Benner and 
I spilled the load.” 

“ Dat so,” admitted Sol. “ I was workum on foot 
of landing.” 

“ Could you hear what passed between Farrow and 
Benner ? ” demanded McMurray. 

“ No. Me been rollum log,” replied the Indian. 

“ Didn’t have any words, any row, did they? ” pur- 
sued the walking boss. 

“ Don’t know. Can’t tell.” 

“ If they did you didn’t notice it? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Pierre, you and Baptiste take lanterns and go down 
on the landing. Get any peaveys that are there, and 
bring them to me. The rest of you remain here.” 

Standing closely packed in the hot little room, the 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 283 


men discussed in subdued tones the startling event 
which had occurred in their midst, while Baptiste and 
Pierre hurried away on their errand. 

“ Someone must go to Aerie Lake,” announced 
McMurray, “ someone who knows the way and isn’t 
afraid of a twenty-five mile jaunt through the woods 
in the night.” 

“ Me go,” announced Sol Soc, promptly. 

“ He’s the only man in the bunch who is equal to it 
— except yourself,” declared Mr. Collins. 

“ And you,” added McMurray. 

“ I might ; but I shouldn’t want to try it at my age 
if it could be avoided,” said the scaler. 

“ But you know Sol was — ” began McMurray. 

“Yes — I know — ” interposed the scaler, impa- 
tiently ; “ but I think you’re as well satisfied as I am 
that he has told the truth.” 

“ Enough to take the chances,” declared McMurray. 
“ Get your snow-shoes and a lunch, and strike out, Sol. 
Rout out Doctor Pardee, and tell him to take his best 
team and get here just as quick as he can.” 

“ All right. Me go,” returned the Indian, promptly, 
as he glided out of the camp. 

A moment later Pierre and Baptiste returned with 
two peaveys, one of which was promptly identified as 
Benner’s. McMurray examined it closely, and laid it 
aside. Then he took the other and started to give it 
a similar scrutiny. Almost at the first glance, how- 
ever, he gave a hasty ejaculation. 


284 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ This is the one that did the business,” he announced, 
as the men gathered about him. “ See those marks? ” 
he added, pointing to some dark stains on the lower 
part of the stock and extending onto the steel socket. 
“ Do any of you recognize this peavey ? ” 

“Bat you life!” exclaimed Pete Bedotte, excitedly. 
“ See dem two black knots jus’ below nub? Dat ban 
Pat Farrow’s peavey.” 

“ You’re a liar,” cried Kelty, livid with rage. 

“ Dry up! ” commanded McMurray, sharply. “ We’ll 
see about this.” 

“ Do any of the rest of you recognize this peavey? ” 
he asked, as the men crowded closer about him. 

“ Yes,” said Peters, quietly. “ It’s Farrow’s. He 
drives behind me, and I’ve seen him using it dozens of 
times.” Several others of the men also identified the 
peavey as Farrow’s. 

“ This is a mean, dirty plot — a put-up job to throw 
me down,” stormed Kelty, in a desperate attempt to 
counteract the force of this damaging testimony. 

“ Perhaps,” said McMurray, briefly. “ All the same 
you may consider yourself under arrest.” 

“This is an outrage — a criminal outrage ! ” blus- 
tered Kelty. “ What right or warrant have you to 
put me under restraint, I’d like to know.” 

“ This, you skunk ! ” roared McMurray, in a voice 
of thunder, stepping forward and shaking a big fist 
under Kelty ’s nose. “ Now, blast you, close up that 
face of yours, and don’t you let me hear another 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 285 


word out of you. Pete,” he added, turning to the 
big Frenchman, “ take him over to the men’s camp and 
look out for him to-night. I’m going to take him to 
Bolton in the morning.” 

“ Ba gosh ! I tak’ me good care for heem,” declared 
Pete, as he seized the unhappy Kelty by the collar, 
and, escorted by a crowd of grim and resolute men, 
led him back to the big camp. Even Kelty, with all 
his cool daring and self-assurance, was rendered uneasy 
by the ominous silence maintained by the crew. 

“ I tell you, boys, this is all a mistake. I didn’t 
have any more to do with hurting Jim Benner than 
you did,” he protested, in whining, wheedling tones. 

“ We see us ’bout dat,” responded big Pete, briefly. 

When Kelty fell asleep that night, he lay between 
Bedotte on one side and Pierre Daviau on the other, 
to both of whom he was securely tied by a big rope. 

Great, therefore, was their rage and chagrin the 
following morning to find that, during the night, this 
rope had been cut, and their prisoner had made good 
his escape. It seemed incredible that he should have 
been able to accomplish this feat without arousing any 
of the men; but the fact remained that he had faded 
away without leaving any clue to the direction in 
which he had gone. 

Mr. Collins, Norman, McMurray, and Fred Warner 
took turns sitting up with Benner during the night; 
but he lay in a dull stupor and did not recover con- 
sciousness. 


286 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


About seven o’clock Dr. Pardee arrived on the scene, 
having made a quick drive across country with the 
Indian in response to Sol’s urgent summons. 

“ It’s a pretty serious case,” he announced, when he 
had completed his examination of Benner. “ The man’s 
skull is crushed in above the right temple, and the 
brain is exposed. Some of the bone has penetrated 
the cerebrum.” 

“ So he hasn’t any show, has he ? ” asked McMur- 
ray. 

“ I didn’t say that,” responded the physician. “ It’s 
a bad blow, but much safer on the front than it would 
have been on the back of the head. It is necessary 
that a very delicate operation should be performed, and 
we must get him into the hospital at Aerie Lake as 
soon as possible.” A little later Vede Pelotte’s team, 
piled high with blankets and robes, to afford the suffer- 
ing Benner the best possible bed, was on its slow way 
up Aerie Lake in charge of Harry McMurray and 
accompanied by Dr. Pardee. 

It was speedily evident to Norman that the events 
of the previous night had wrought a great revulsion 
of feeling among the men so far as he was concerned. 
They began to give him their old friendly nods again, 
a little sheepishly, it is true, but with a very evident 
desire to return, by the quickest possible way, to the 
old friendly footing. This was made easy by the per- 
fectly natural and cordial way in which Norman met 
their advances. It had been suddenly borne in upon 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 287 


the men that if Farrow was capable of the murderous 
assault upon Jim Benner, he was equally capable of 
committing the various thefts from which the camp 
had suffered. This view was confirmed when Fred 
Warner improved the opportunity afforded by the 
absence of Norman, who was caring for Benner, to 
tell how they had caught Farrow in the very act of 
removing a partially filled bag from the oat house. 
Mr. Collins, whose views carried great weight with 
the men, also expressed the opinion that Farrow was 
the real thief, and the mere idea that a clean, honest 
boy like Norman could be guilty of anything of the 
kind was preposterous. 

When Norman returned to the beaver house after 
breakfast he found Billy Eustace waiting for him 
there. 

“ I want you to go up with me, Norman,” he said, 
" and show me just where Farrow left his horses when 
he came down and dug that bag out of the oat house.” 

“ All right,” responded Norman, as he led the way 
to the main road by the short cut back of the hovel. 
“ There,” he said, as he paused at the point of juncture, 
“ they stood right back of those cedars.” 

Eustace stepped to the spot indicated, and took a 
careful look in every direction. 

“ Carver, Eve been blind as a mole,” he confessed, 
a moment later. “ I’ve been unable to see how it was 
possible for any man to commit those thefts we’ve 
suffered from without getting caught, and here it shows 


288 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


so plainly that anyone with ordinary sense and eyesight 
should have discovered it. I never once dreamed that 
there was such a hiding-place within a stone’s throw 
of the camp. Norman,” he added, extending his hand, 
“ I beg your pardon. I deserve to be kicked to death 
by a parcel o’ grasshoppers.” 

“ Don’t mention it,” returned Norman, with a warm 
clasp of the proffered hand. “ Your suspicions were 
quite natural under the circumstances.” 

“ All the same I shall never forgive myself for 
having entertained them,” rejoined Eustace. “ It’s a 
little the narrowest thing I was ever guilty of.” 


CHAPTER XXII 


A JAUNT WITH THE SCALER 

It was the middle of the next afternoon when Harry 
McMurray returned to the camp. He reported to 
Eustace and Norman, who were the only ones in the 
beaver house, that Benner had survived the operation 
at Aerie Lake hospital, and was resting quietly when 
he left him, although he had not yet regained con- 
sciousness. 

“ I found this in one of his pockets,” he said, pro- 
ducing a much crumpled Boston newspaper. “ Looks 
to me as if that bird has a considerable resemblance 
to our Farrow/’ he added, pointing to a portrait of 
Clouter Kelty. 

“ The very same man,” declared Eustace, with con- 
viction, after a brief glance at the portrait. 

“ It was taken from the rogues’ gallery,” continued 
McMurray, “ and there’s quite a long piece goes with 
it. Seems as if he were a pretty tough customer. 
Has robbed banks, done time, and, if the confession 
of one of his pals is true, is also a murderer. He 
skipped right out from under the officers’ noses, while 
they had him in court. Reckon you may know some- 
thing about him,” he added, with a glance at Norman. 

289 


2 9 o ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Yes,” admitted Norman. “ I know quite a lot 
about him. I was in the court room when he made 
his sensational escape. I was the boy the paper speaks 
of who tried to stop him. Kelty and Farrow are one 
and the same man.” 

“Did you recognize him when he came here?” 
demanded McMurray. 

“ The minute I set my eyes on him.” 

“ Why didn’t you tell me ? ” asked Eustace, in a 
strained voice. 

“ Because I was given to understand that members 
of a woods crew were not expected to be informers 
or to do police duty,” returned Norman. 

“ Did he know you ? ” inquired McMurray. 

“ Not at first. He did later. We talked it over 
together the Sunday after he came here, on the way 
back from Deer Trail pond. He gave me to under- 
stand that he wanted to go straight.” 

“ But surely you must have suspected him of the 
thefts,” broke in Eustace, sternly. 

“ I did ; but I didn’t see any way to fix them on 
him.” 

“ I think I see your motive in keeping his secret,” 
declared McMurray, slowly, “but it was a mistaken 
one. You should have told me or Billy as soon as 
you recognized him. If you had done this Jim Benner 
wouldn’t, in all probability, be in the hospital at this 
time with his life hanging in the balance.” 

“That’s true,” supplemented Eustace. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 291 


“ I don’t know about that,” declared Norman. “ I 
rather think old Jim knew more about him than you 
think. He told me down on the landing one day that 
Farrow reminded him very much of a fellow named 
Fargo who murdered a man near where he was lum- 
bering in Wisconsin some years ago. The woodsmen 
pursued him, but he was supposed to have broken 
through the ice and been drowned. They found a 
body in the water later in the spring that was thought 
to have been his.” 

“ This goes far to account for the situation,” said 
McMurray. “ Old Jim got hold of this paper some- 
where and flashed it up to him. Then he probably 
taunted him with the Wisconsin affair. That was his 
undoing. Kelty left his team behind the trees, and 
came back to lay him out. He meant to kill him.” 

“ He never forgot or forgave the flogging Benner 
gave him with a salt codfish the first night in camp,” 
remarked Norman. 

“ I never heard of that,” said McMurray. “ Got a 
little fresh, did he ? ” 

“ Yes, he got mad at something Jim said and inti- 
mated that he had tumbled into a drove of mules.” 

“ Well, he had no one to blame but himself,” was 
McMurray’s comment. “ If he’d had any horse-sense 
he’d have known better than to have made a crack like 
that.” 

“ He was pretty hot under the collar when he did 
it,” explained Norman. 


292 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Well, even if he lost his head that time, I’ll venture 
to say he never got hot enough to make any such break 
again,” observed McMurray. 

“ Do you know,” said Norman, “ I don’t believe 
Kelty knew Benner had that paper. If he had he’d 
certainly have taken it away with him.” 

“ Carver’s right,” coincided Eustace, in a tone of 
conviction. “ Jim may have put the story up to this 
fellow Kelty or Farrow, or whatever his name may be; 
but I’m satisfied that he never let on that he had the 
paper.” 

“ Well, maybe that’s so,” conceded McMurray. 

“ Didn’t get any clues on him, did you?” asked 
Norman. 

“Not a smell. I’ve notified all the camps. There 
was an account of the assault on Jim wired away to 
the newspapers yesterday afternoon. I fancy, there- 
fore, that it will not be an altogether easy matter for 
him to escape.” 

“ He’ll get short shrift, if the boys lay hands on 
him,” said Eustace, grimly. 

“ I’ve thought of that,” returned McMurray, in a 
troubled voice. “ I know they’re in an ugly mood 
just now; but they must let the law take its course. 
I reckon I’d better drop them a word of warning 
to-night.” 

“ It won’t come amiss, if you don’t want that fellow 
lynched,” assented Eustace. 

“ It wouldn’t do at all,” asserted McMurray, deci- 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 293 

sively. “ I’ll put an emphatic stop to that idea right 
away.” 

There was an ominous quiet among the men, as they 
filed into camp a little later, at the close of the day’s 
work. Every foot of the woods roads had been care- 
fully scrutinized by them; but not a track had been 
discovered that would serve as a clue to the missing 
Kelty. Inasmuch, however, as all the roads were worn 
hard with travel this fact was not wholly surprising. 

The members of the crew gathered eagerly around 
Harry McMurray when he visited their camp after 
supper, and inquired anxiously for Benner, expressing, 
with much sincerity, their hopes for his recovery. The 
walking boss improved the opportunity to warn them 
against any violent usage of the missing Kelty in case 
he should fall into their hands. 

At McMur ray’s suggestion, Norman sat on the dea- 
con seat and played a number of stirring airs on the 
banjo, with the result that the men forgetting, tempo- 
rarily, the shadow that had been cast upon the spirits 
of the camp by the misfortune that had befallen Ben- 
ner, were soon dancing up and down the camp floor 
with all the frolicsome abandon that is characteristic 
of a logging-crew at play. 

The following morning, when he came out from 
breakfast, Norman found Mr. Collins waiting for him 
in front of the dingle. 

“ I had intended to go back to Camp 3 this morn- 
ing,” he said, “ but on reflection I’ve decided to wait 


294 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


till after dinner, and take a little circle through the 
woods. It occurred to me that, possibly, you might 
like to go along with me.” 

“ I should be delighted to go,” responded Norman, 
eagerly. 

“ Do you know,” confided the scaler, a little later, 
as they were making their way on snow-shoes along 
a hardwood ridge, “ I've been half in hopes we might 
strike that fellow Farrow’s trail.” 

“ Something like hunting for a needle in a haymow, 
isn’t it?” asked Norman. 

“ Not so much as it might seem at first sight,” 
answered the scaler. “ The only way he could have 
got away without a trail would have been to have 
followed the beaten roads. That, I take it, is just 
what he did. Now he either had to go out to Game- 
wood siding along the tote-road, follow the trail of the 
oat teams to the back settlements or make for some 
hiding-place he’d prepared ahead. I’m pretty well con- 
vinced that the things he stole were really intended to 
equip some camp he’d found.” 

“ Perhaps he built one,” suggested Norman. 

“No. I think not,” dissented the scaler. “ He; 
hasn’t had time. Besides, there are a number of old 
lumber camps in this section that he could have occu- 
pied, to say nothing of half a dozen or so built by 
gummers and trappers. He’s probably utilized one of 
those.” 

“ Very likely,” acquiesced Norman. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 295 


“ I thought if we circled the tote-roads, we might 
possibly find his track where he struck off from the 
logging road into the deep woods.” 

“ I suppose you think I should have told what I 
knew about this man/’ said Norman. 

“ Yes. It would, in my opinion, have been the 
right thing for you to have done, ,, returned the scaler. 
“ Still, I feel that your motives were all right in doing 
as you did. It isn’t a wise thing for any man, especially 
a young man, to burden his life with too many secrets.” 

“ I think that’s so,” agreed Norman. “ What trees 
are those ahead ? ” he asked, abruptly changing the 
subject. 

“ Maples,” replied the scaler. 

“ But see how rough the bark is,” objected Norman. 

“ Yes. They are original growth, but maples just 
the same,” insisted the scaler. 

“ How many kinds of maples grow here ? ” 

“ Well, these are rock maples, the same kind that 
are tapped in sugar-making. There are also, in this 
section, white maples, and the red or swamp maples 
that grow on the lowlands. Here is a tree you should 
learn to recognize,” he added, pausing beside a small 
tree with dark bark. 

“ What is that?” 

“ It’s a hornbeam — one of the strongest, toughest 
woods that grows in our Maine forests. It makes 
excellent handles for axes or other tools, and is also 
used for tips on fishing rods, being both close-grained 


296 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


and elastic. It is not a tree that attains any great 
size.” 

“ What a population there must be in the woods,” 
observed Norman, pointing to the tracks that dotted 
the snow. 

“ Yes, a person traveling through the woods sees but 
a small part of its life,” returned the scaler. 

“ I feel as if the wild things of the woods were 
hiding all about me, and peeking out to laugh at me,” 
confessed Norman. 

“ I’ll venture to say that they would see you, under 
’most any circumstances, a great deal oftener than you 
would see them. Nature protects its wild creatures by 
giving them wonderfully acute senses. Their keenness 
of scent, in particular, is marvelously well developed.” 

“ Couldn’t some of these wild animals, like moose 
and deer, be tamed, and made to serve domestic pur- 
poses?” asked Norman. 

“No. I think not. It is not a difficult task to tame 
either a moose or a deer — especially when they are 
caught young. I had a fawn at my house last summer 
that would follow the children about with all the devo- 
tion of a dog, and a neighbor of mine had a buck deer 
his boys had brought up on a bottle, that fed in his 
orchard as tame as a sheep. In the fall, however, he 
went off in the woods, and I reckon our fawn went 
with him. Anyway she disappeared at about the same 
time.” 

“ It was ‘ the call of the wild,’ ” remarked Norman. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 297 

“ Yes / 5 assented the scaler. “ it isn’t an easy matter 
for man or beast to get away from inherited instincts. 
A good many years ago Colonel Jim Gerrish tried 
domesticating moose. He had a theory that Nature 
intended them for beasts of burden in this section. So 
he tamed a couple of them and broke them to harness.” 

“ Did they go well ? ” 

“ First-rate, when they did go; but the Colonel found 
out a good many things about moose that he didn’t 
know before. One was the contrary nature of the 
beasts. He never could tell what new freak was going 
to possess them. From first to last they were mighty 
uncertain quantities.” 

The scaler paused and indulged in a reminiscent 
chuckle. 

“ Gid Shriver told me once,” he resumed, presently, 
“ of a ride he had in the old days after Long Jim’s 
famous moose team. It was Sunday, and the Colonel, 
anxious to show off his pets, suggested to old Gid, who 
was visiting his camp, that they take the moose team 
and enjoy a spin down to the camp of old Lige Med- 
way, on the Skittecook dead water, about twenty miles 
away. Gid was nothing loath, and so they started out. 
The roads were in prime condition, and the way those 
moose bowled along set Gid’s blood all a-tingle. He 
always allowed that it was about the most exhilarating 
ride he ever enjoyed. As the moose went kicking the 
miles out behind them Long Jim expanded his chest, 
and expatiated with a good deal of pride and enthu- 


298 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


siasm on the bright future that was in store for the 
moose as a draft animal. He was right in the midst 
of his eulogy when the moose he was driving suddenly 
bolted out of the road, jumped two or three windfalls, 
and went to browsing very calmly upon some scrub 
cedars that had attracted their attention. The Colonel, 
in some mysterious way, had managed to keep his seat ; 
but poor old Gid had been bounced out, as they went 
over the first windfall, and nearly buried in the deep 
snow. They finally managed to get their team back 
into the road, and started on again. Gid wanted to 
go back; but the Colonel wouldn’t hear to it. He said 
he’d started out for Lige Medway’s camp, and by the 
Great Horn Spoon he was going there. They started 
on again, and all at once those critters took it into their 
crazy heads to race. Gid said the pace they struck 
was simply terrifying. His hair stood on end, for he 
was confident that if they should meet a team, or if it 
should occur to the moose to bolt from the road again, 
he and the Colonel would stand a good chance of 
being pitchpoled into the next township. However, 
the things we worry about the most don’t generally 
come to pass in this life. After a spell, the Colonel 
got his team down to a normal gait, and pulled up at 
Medway’s camp in fairly good order. Coming back 
old Gid was forced to admit that the conduct of the 
moose was above criticism. They made the twenty 
miles without a break, and in incredibly quick time. 
All the same, Gid didn’t enjoy the ride for a minute. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 299 


‘ I was afeared all th’ time/ he said, ‘ of what th’ 
blamed critters might do/ That was the trouble with 
those moose from first to last. They weren’t depend- 
able. Couldn’t count on them from one minute to 
another. No one ever knew just what they would do 
next. They grew more and more cranky and contrary 
as time went on, and even Long Jim, tenacious as he 
was in most matters, was obliged to give them up. 
He turned them loose in the big woods when he broke 
camp in the spring, and that’s the last attempt I know 
of in these parts to use moose for draft purposes. 
They’ve got the speed and endurance all right; but 
they lack in disposition.” 

During the scaler’s narrative they came down from 
the ridge into a stretch of black growth. 

Midway of this Mr. Collins paused and glanced 
intently at the hollow end of an immense pine windfall. 

“ Looks like live stock here,” he announced, briefly. 
“ See how that end is sealed up with moss?” 

“ Yes,” said Norman, “ but I should never have 
noticed it if you hadn’t called my attention to it. What 
do you think is in there ? ” 

“ Bears.” 

“ Bears!” repeated Norman in consternation. 

“ Wouldn’t surprise me a bit,” declared the scaler, 
coolly, as he pulled a heavy Colt’s revolver from a 
leather holster that hung on his belt. “ Just take this 
axe, and pound along on the outside of the log. I’ll 
stay here by the end of it, and see what develops.” 


300 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


Norman did as directed, but without result. 

“ Pretty sleepy,” commented the scaler. “ Let’s see 
what this will do,” he added, as he pulled a match from 
his pocket and lighted it. Bending forward he touched 
the blaze to the moss in the end of the log and almost 
immediately a black smoke burst from it — only to be 
caught, and forced backward by a stiff breeze that was 
blowing through the forest. There was an unmistak- 
able commotion inside the big tree. A moment later 
the burning moss was pushed out upon the snow, and 
a black head appeared, growling and coughing. Two 
quick shots from the scaler’s revolver brought the bear 
to an abrupt stop. Stepping forward, Mr. Collins 
grasped the dead bruin by the ears and pulled her out 
upon the snow. She was a gaunt female, whose thin 
sides bore evidence of a winter’s fast. No sooner had 
he pulled her from the log than Mr. Collins again drew 
his revolver. He had not a moment to spare, for 
almost immediately a cub, three-quarters grown, came 
tumbling out of the log, only to share the fate of the 
mother. This evidently cleared the den, for, although 
Norman pounded along the entire length of the log, 
and Mr. Collins gathered moss for another smudge, 
no more bears put in an appearance. 

" What shall we do with them?” asked Norman. 

“ Take the pelts and leave the carcasses,” responded 
Mr. Collins. 

“ But isn’t the meat good to eat ? ” 

“ Not specially, under the most favorable circum- 



Mr. Collins grasped the dead bruin by the ears. — Page 300. 

































































































































































































ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 301 


stances. At this reason of the year, however, it’s 
strong enough to be rank. I reckon it’s better for the 
foxes than it would be for us.” 

In a short time, with a deftness and skill that was 
surprising to Norman, Mr. Collins had removed the 
skins from the two bears. 

“ Not in prime condition,” he said, as he rolled them 
together, preparatory to tying them upon his back. 
“ Still, they might be a good deal worse.” 

“ Let me carry at least one of them,” insisted Nor- 
man. 

“ No. I’m good for them,” returned Mr. Collins. 
“ You may carry the axe, though, if you wish.” 

“ Do you know,” said Norman, as they resumed 
their tramp, “ that didn’t seem a bit like a bear hunt 
to me.” 

“ Well, we didn’t have to hunt much for that pair,” 
admitted the scaler. “ They were simply waiting for 
us.” 

“ But you were so cool — so matter of fact about 
it,” pursued Norman. 

“ I’ll admit that a black bear does not stir my blood 
very much,” said the scaler, “ especially when I come 
upon him in winter quarters. They are about the 
most timid animals in our Maine woods, so far as men 
are concerned. It’s simply amazing what a lot of 
ground they’ll cover in a day. They .are also wonder- 
fully keen of scent, and for that reason are rarely come 
upon in the big woods. I’ve killed a great many of 


302 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


them in my day — most of them with the aid of traps.” 

Nothing further occurred to lend excitement to their 
trip. Although they circled a good portion of the 
Camp 4 cuttings, they found no tracks indicating the 
direction in which Kelty had made his escape. It was 
after two o’clock when they finally reached the camp. 
Norman was tired and hungry; but Mr. Collins, while 
he did ample justice to the generous repast provided by 
Felix Lamarre, was, apparently, as fresh as when he 
started out in the morning. 

“ I rather think Kelty followed the road to the back 
settlements,” he said, as he was preparing to leave for 
Camp 3. “ He’s probably in Canada by this time. 

I’ll take these bear skins along with me and have them 
tanned. Then I’ll express them to your father with 
our compliments.” 

“ You ought to keep them yourself,” protested Nor- 
man. 

“ I couldn’t think of it,” responded the scaler, over 
his shoulder, as he went, with long, swinging stride, 
down the tote-road in the direction of Camp 3. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


THE LAIR OF THE OUTLAW 

Several weeks went by, following the escape of 
Clouter Kelty, without any trace of him having been 
discovered. It was the general opinion among the 
men at Camp 4 that he had made his way along the 
road traversed by the oat teams, to what were known 
as the “ back settlements.” From there it was easy 
enough to pass into Canada. 

Baptiste Groder, who had associated more with the 
missing ruffian than any other member of the crew, 
stated that he had once seen Kelty exhibit a big roll 
of bills, many of which appeared to be of large denom- 
inations. It was evident, therefore, that his escape 
had been in nowise retarded by lack of funds. 

Jim Benner was reported to be gaining slowly at 
the Aerie Lake hospital, but his mind was not yet clear, 
and he had no recollection whatever of the affair on 
the landing. 

Life at Camp 4 was one ceaseless round of vigorous 
and sustained effort. Notwithstanding that March 
was nearing its end, the woods roads were still in 
excellent condition, and the work of transporting the 
logs from the yards to the landings went forward with 
303 


304 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


feverish energy — each team striving to outdo the 
others. 

The masterful spirit of Harry McMurray seemed to 
pervade and dominate the whole section, imbuing every 
man in the employ of the Lakeland Lumber Company 
with its own force and courage. The walking boss 
was certainly leading “ the strenuous life.” He was 
indefatigable. The long woods miles had no terrors 
for him, and he passed rapidly from camp to camp 
urging the men to the utmost of their powers, and 
utilizing with the promptness of the woods general 
every phase of the situation that could, by any inspira- 
tion of genius, be made to hurry forward the work. 
The men under him were proud of their own prowess, 
and devotedly loyal to their leader. 

Something of this spirit was felt by Norman Carver, 
as he made his way alone on snow-shoes, through the 
big woods one Sunday afternoon near the close of the 
month. He felt that he was a private in a division of 
the great army of industry that was fighting the battles 
of civilization. In this warfare men went down to the 
sea in ships; they threw their networks of steel across 
dizzy chasms and over roaring torrents; they delved 
down into the bowels of the earth ; they braved the ice 
and snow of the northern wilderness, with its wind- 
swept solitudes and ever present dangers; they planted 
their banners of development and progress on the very 
outposts of Nature’s resources. It was an army full 
of nameless heroes and unnoted heroisms, doing its 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 305 


mighty work resolutely, ceaselessly, uncomplainingly, 
with the same tenacious hardihood, and unconscious 
daring, that has fought and won the great battles of 
the ages. Here in the primeval forest, its forces were 
conquering the mighty resources of the wilderness, and 
converting them to the uses of far-off cities and towns 
— rendering them tribute to the spirit of home building 
that lies at the very foundation of civic unity and Chris- 
tian progress. It was a warfare with elemental forces, 
waged under the direction of dauntless leadership, and 
inspired with the restless, militant spirit, that has 
always been characteristic of the pioneer’s life. And 
he was a part of it all! The thought quickened Nor- 
man’s pulses, and filled his heart with a determination 
to do well his part, however humble and inconspicuous 
it might be. 

Engrossed in his own reflections, Norman made his 
way through the woods at a rate of speed that would 
have been impossible to him a few weeks before. A 
partridge rose with a startled whirr from the branches 
of a yellow birch above his head, and winged her rapid 
way down the side of the ridge to the black growth in 
the hollow; but he gave her scarcely a glance. He 
pushed on through the woods until he finally came, 
down a sharp pitch, to the shore of Deer Trail Pond. 
He paused and looked out carefully upon its snow- 
covered surface; but no sign of life met his gaze. A 
cold wind swept unchecked across the wintry plain, and 
swayed the tops of the big spruces. It had already 


3 o6 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


commenced to spit snow, and with the feeling that a 
blustering, stormy night was before him, Norman 
turned to retrace his steps. As he did so he caught 
sight of Isaac Solstein’s camp, standing upon its little 
peninsula, and half hidden in its thicket of firs. 

Moved by a sudden impulse, Norman decided to give 
this picturesque structure a somewhat closer inspection. 
Following along the shore of the pond he came, pres- 
ently, to the narrow neck of land, with its heavy growth 
of evergreens, upon which the wealthy New Yorker, 
with an eye for scenic charm, had built his sporting 
lodge. Winding his way among the trees he came, 
in a short time, to the rear of the structure, which, 
contrary to the established rule in the big woods, was 
plentifully supplied with windows. Their curtains were 
drawn, however, and they seemed to Norman to look 
out upon him in a distinctly cold and repellent spirit. 
He paused for a moment to study the building, with 
its peeled logs and plumbed lines so different from the 
rude buildings of Camp 4, and then passed around to 
the front piazza. This he was surprised to find entirely 
free from snow. Evidently someone had taken the 
trouble to shovel it off. As he looked, Norman was 
still more astonished to see a well-worn snow-shoe trail 
leading from a clump of firs to the steps of the opposite 
side of the piazza from where he stood. Resolved to 
look further into the matter, he walked around the front 
of the camp and examined this trail with critical care. 
It was well trodden, and gave evidence of having been 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 307 


used a number of times. It occurred to Norman, how- 
ever, that the party who had come and gone in it had 
exercised great care to confine his movements strictly 
within its limits. The only other tracks about the 
premises were those which Norman had just made. 

The vague feeling of mystery and uncertainty that 
Norman felt in the presence of this trail was speedily 
dispelled. 

“ Well, does everything suit you? ” asked a familiar 
voice near him. 

Norman straightened himself with a start, finding 
it somewhat difficult to credit the evidence of his senses. 
He rubbed his eyes, mechanically, with his hand to 
make sure that they were not deceiving him ; but there 
was no doubt about the unwelcome vision that con- 
fronted them. 

Standing a short distance away up the trail, between 
two bushy fir-trees, was Clouter Kelty! The outlaw 
carried Norman’s double-barreled shotgun over his 
shoulder, while at his belt, in a leather case, hung a 
heavy revolver which Norman recognized as one of the 
articles that had been stolen from the men. 

“ You don’t seem real glad to see me, old pal,” con- 
tinued Kelty, in cold, metallic tones, as he stepped from 
between the sheltering trees into the trail, at the same 
time bringing into view the snow-shoes that had been 
purloined from Harry McMurray. “ I said you didn’t 
seem glad to see me,” he repeated, in a louder tone, as 
Norman continued to gaze at him in silent wonder. 


3 o8 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ I certainly didn’t expect to find you here,” returned 
Norman, rousing himself with a start. 

“ If you had, I bet you wouldn’t have come,” 
returned Kelty, grimly. 

“ On the contrary, I think I should,” said Norman. 

“ And with the whole gang of ’em at your back,” 
rejoined Kelty, bitterly. “ Now, youngster, it won’t 
pay for you and me to have any misunderstandings. 
Pretence and blarney may be all right among the 
nabobs; but it doesn’t cut any ice with me. I know 
you don’t like me. In fact, you haven’t the slightest 
use for me. It would simply give you a better appe- 
tite for dinner to see me strapped in the electric chair,” 
he added, fiercely. 

“ No — no,” protested Norman. “ You are mis- 
taken about that.” 

“ Perhaps I am,” responded Kelty; “but I doubt it. 
Let me tell you one thing, however,” he added, vehe- 
mently. “ I shall never go there.” 

The outlaw’s face was hideous in its drawn and hag- 
gard outlines, and his voice fairly hissed in its intensity. 

“ I hope not,” said Norman. 

Kelty regarded him for a moment with curious 
interest. 

“ Blamed if I’m not half minded to believe you,” he 
declared. “ You’re a puzzle I haven’t been able to 
solve.” 

“ I certainly haven’t been responsible for any of your 
troubles,” asserted Norman. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 309 


“ No,” admitted Kelty. “ I don’t think you have. 
It’s been a mystery to me why you didn’t peach on 
me at the start; but for some reason you didn’t. I 
give you credit for that.” 

He paused and eyed Norman with wrinkled brows. 

“ I don’t know whether I’m glad to see you or not,” 
he said. “ Don’t s’pose you have any question of that 
kind,” he added. 

“ No,” admitted Norman. 

“ You’re honest — if not complimentary,” returned 
Kelty. “ Well, go into the house.” 

Norman hesitated. 

“ Go into the house,” repeated Kelty, sharply. 
“ You may as well know that you are somewhat of a 
white elephant on my hands, Carver,” he added. “ I 
didn’t invite you here, and you’re a good deal more 
likely to continue in good health, if you do just what 
I say, and do it promptly. Move ! ” 

Norman turned about and started towards the piazza 
of the camp. He had an uncomfortable feeling that 
Kelty was covering him with the hammerless shotgun 
which he had lowered into the hollow of his arm, and 
which, he had no doubt, was in readiness for instant 
use. 

“ Halt,” commanded Kelty, as he reached the foot 
of the steps. 

Norman stopped abruptly. 

“ Take off those snow-shoes,” ordered the outlaw. 
“ It’s likely to be some little time before you need them 


3io ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


again,” he added, as Norman made haste to comply 
with his wishes. 

Hot words rose to Norman’s lips. Kelty’s effront- 
ery was certainly hard to bear. He recognized, how- 
ever, that he had a wicked, desperate man to deal with, 
and wisely held his peace. 

“ I guess I’ll follow suit,” declared Kelty, and drop- 
ping, first on one knee and then on the other, he quickly 
removed his snow-shoes, and followed Norman up the 
steps to the piazza. 

“ Walk right in. Don’t stop to rap,” he commanded, 
as they reached the front door. 

The camp which Norman entered was a decided 
improvement over anything of the kind he had yet 
seen. It was a large room with good-sized windows, 
and well-laid board floors. A short flight of stairs led 
to a floor above, which was divided into three small 
bedrooms. At the end of the big room on the lower 
floor was a door leading into an adjoining shed kitchen, 
fully equipped with a modern cooking-range, and a 
generous assortment of culinary utensils. One corner 
of the big living-room was filled with an enormous fire- 
place built of rough stone. In another corner, Kelty 
had set up one of the beds which he had brought from 
the loft. Deer and bear skin rugs covered a consider- 
able portion of the floor. There were a number of 
big rocking-chairs, scattered about the room, and an 
immense cupboard filled one of the open places between 
the windows. This, Norman discovered later, con- 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 3” 

tained nearly everything that could add to the comfort 
and convenience of a camp outfit. 

“Well, how does it suit you?” asked Kelty. 

“ It’s fine,” declared Norman. 

“ Here, let me relieve you,” continued the outlaw, 
and taking Norman’s snow-shoes he stood them with 
his over in a corner of the camp. 

“ Sit down by the fireplace, and we’ll have a nice 
chat together, as soon as I get this fire to going,” he 
continued, pointing to the big chunks of wood piled 
upon the massive andirons, which were evidently the 
handiwork of some rural blacksmith. 

Norman, wondering vaguely at the outlaw’s unex- 
pected good-nature, complied with his request. Kelty 
touched a match to the birch bark beneath the fire logs, 
and a moment later the great fireplace was a mass of 
flame that roared up the big chimney and lit up the 
spacious room. 

Outside the wind was rapidly rising and the snow 
falling in constantly increasing volume, but inside was 
a scene of comfort and cheer which even the repulsive 
features of Kelty could not wholly dispel. 

For a moment the outlaw stood looking at Norman 
with lowering brows. 

“ How many people knew you came here ? ” he 
demanded. 

“ No one,” rejoined Norman. 

“ Didn’t you start out to come here ? ” 

“ No. That was an afterthought. I haven’t been 


312 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


here since we had that famous fish dinner on the 
pond.” 

Kelty’s features relaxed. 

“ I didn’t know but what you were working out some 
part of a plan,” he said, in a tone of relief. 

“ No. I had no plan whatever when I left camp 
this morning, except to enjoy a good tramp,” said 
Norman. 

“ You and I might as well have a square under- 
standing at the start, Carver,” declared the outlaw, as 
he drew a rocking-chair to the opposite side of the fire 
a moment later. “ If you behave yourself, you won’t 
find me half as bad a fellow as you think me; but if 
you try to escape — ” he paused, ominously. 

“Well, what then?” asked Norman. 

“ I’ll shoot you with as little hesitation as I would 
a yellow dog,” declared Kelty, in cold, even tones. 

“ I don’t doubt it,” admitted Norman. 

“ I’m glad to see you exhibiting a little horse-sense,” 
declared Kelty. “ There’s a shotgun and a rifle in the 
corner — ” 

“ Yes,” interposed Norman. “ I’ve seen them be- 
fore.” 

“ Necessity knows no law,” rejoined Kelty, coolly. 
“ You may help yourself to either one of those weapons 
any time you choose ; but they won’t do you any good. 
I’ve removed the cartridges from each of them, and 
have put the ammunition in a place where you won’t 
be likely to find it. The only loaded weapon in this 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 313 


camp is this revolver in my belt. It is a self-cocker 
and you’ll notice that the holster is open. So long as 
you play fair we shall get along all right; but if you 
show any signs of treachery — if you try the slightest 
funny business, I’ll kill you just as surely as you sit 
in that chair.’’ 

“ How long are you going to keep me here ? ” 
demanded Norman. 

“ I don’t know. You surely can’t leave to-night. 
Hark ! ” he added, as the wind whistled dismally up 
the pond, and dashed flurries of snow against the 
window-panes. “ You couldn’t think of going out 
alone in such a storm. It’s getting worse every min- 
ute. I tell you we’re going to have a wild night. 
You’ll be a mighty sight safer with me than you would 
be outside. Looks to me as if we were going to have 
the line-storm. You’re lucky to be right here with me.” 

“ It begins to look that way,” assented Norman. 

“ Had any supper ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Well, I’m going to get some. You can come into 
the kitchen or stay here, just as you choose.” 

“ Thanks,” returned Norman. “ This fire looks 
pretty cheerful. I think I’ll stay here.” 

Kelty walked to the corner of the room, and picked 
up the snow-shoes. 

“ You won’t mind it, pal, if I take these into the 
kitchen with me,” he said. “ You’re a mighty smart 
little shaver; but I think you understand the situation 


3 i4 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


too well and have got too much brains to try wading 
in this storm.” 

“ I certainly shouldn’t want to if I were not obliged 
to,” rejoined Norman. His heart sank within him, 
as he perceived how effectually Kelty had shut off any 
chance for escape. Even with his snow-shoes the 
attempt to reach camp in such a storm would have been 
hazardous. Without them it would have been suicide. 
Plainly he was in for a night with the outlaw, and 
while the outlook was not an encouraging one, he 
determined to make the best of it, and, if possible, keep 
his companion in good humor. 

“ You can pull that small table up by the fireplace 
and set it, after you get thawed out a bit,” said Kelty, 
pausing in the doorway to the kitchen. “ You’ll find 
all the dishes you need in that cupboard there. His 
nibs has given us a good outfit ; nothing small or mean 
about him.” 

Norman rose and drawing the table which Kelty 
had indicated before the fireplace, proceeded to set it 
for two people. He found that Kelty had told the 
truth about the camp outfit. The supply of dishes and 
tableware was ample to have met the needs of a large 
company. As he worked, he heard the rattle of dishes 
in the kitchen, and caught the savory odor of cooking 
meat. 

Presently Kelty entered the room with a big platter 
of meat, and a pot of steaming tea. 

“ Good job, pal ! You are certainly a genuine dining- 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 315 

room artist,” he said, approvingly, as he noted the 
table. 

He sat down the tea and meat, and went back to the 
kitchen, from which he presently returned with a plate 
of pilot-bread. 

“ This is the whole bill o’ fare, pal,” he announced. 
“ Pull up your chair and lay to. We haven’t got quite 
the variety you might find at Young’s or the Parker 
house; but so far as we go, we have the very best the 
market affords. I think you’ll like that lamb steak.” 

“Lamb?” repeated Norman, in a puzzled tone. 

Kelty indulged in a short and somewhat mirthless 
laugh. 

“ That’s what they call it in close time,” he explained. 

“ Oh, I see — it’s deer meat,” said Norman. 

“ That’s about the size of it,” declared the outlaw, 
coolly. “ I found a yard of them back from the pond 
a piece, and didn’t have any trouble at all in getting a 
couple. I think I could get venison enough in this 
country to live on the year round.” 

“ But the game wardens — ” began Norman. 

“ Are the least of my troubles,” declared Kelty. 

A momentary scowl distorted his features. 

“ It wouldn’t be well for one of them if he tried to 
interfere with me,” he added, in a menacing tone. 
“ I’m not on such good terms with society that any 
man can afford to meddle with me. Hoe in there, pal. 
There’s plenty more where that came from.” 

Norman needed no second invitation, and was soon 


316 all among the loggers 


eating the delicious venison with a relish and appetite 
that he would not have thought possible an hour before. 

He wondered how long the outlaw’s good nature 
would last, and whether, after all, his seeming hospi- 
tality did not mask some sinister purpose. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


WITH CLOUTER KELTY AT SOLSTEIN’S CAMP 

“Are you long on dishwashing?” asked Kelty, as 
they rose from the table. 

“ I’m no expert,” returned Norman, “ still I’ve 
helped Fred Warner now and then.” 

“ You’ll do,” asserted the outlaw. “ You wash and 
I’ll wipe. I’ve tried to keep this camp clean. It was 
a trick my old mother taught me. She died when I 
was a boy.” 

Plainly Kelty was in a mellow mood, and Norman 
was surprised to see a softer look on his coarse and 
brutal features. 

The water was soon in readiness, and while Norman 
stood by the kitchen sink and washed the supper dishes, 
Kelty wiped them and put them away. 

“ Good job,” commented the outlaw, with evident 
satisfaction, when the task was completed. “ Now I 
guess we’ll thaw out a little bed clothing for you. Go 
up-stairs, and I’ll show you where it is.” 

Norman did as directed, closely followed by Kelty. 

“ We’ll take down the single iron bedstead in this 
little back room,” announced the outlaw. “ Just think 
of it! box springs and a hair mattress! That old 
317 


318 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


buck took his woods life with limitations. No boughs 
playing horse with his backbone! No, sir. He pre- 
ferred to smell ’em on the trees. It’s an honor to use 
the stuff of a fellow like him. About the only way, 
I guess, the world will ever get any return for the 
money he’s filched from it. There’s two kind of 
thieves, pal, those who do their stealing on the outside, 
and those who do their stealing on the inside of the 
line we call ‘ law.’ Bless you, I know this old Solstein, 
cold-blooded stock gambler, and market manipulator; 
a fellow who has heaped up millions by buying the 
people’s rights from corrupt legislatures. Talk about 
thieves! That old reprobate has stolen his thousands 
where I’ve taken pennies. But see the difference! 
He’s respectable. People look up to him. Has his 
box springs and hair mattresses even up here in the 
home of the bough bed. He’s the ‘ honorable ’ — 
doesn’t that phase you? — the ‘honorable’ Mr. Sol- 
stein, while I — ha ! — I’m an outcast and a renegade, 
hiding like a pariah from the face of man ! ” 

While he talked he had been busy with Norman 
taking apart the bed. In a short time they had carried 
it down-stairs and had set it up in the big living-room, 
while the bedding was desposed on chairs in a wide 
circle about the cheerful heat of the fireplace. 

Into this circle Kelty and Norman drew a couple of 
comfortable rockers, and seated themselves in the genial 
glow of the burning logs. The roaring flames lit up 
the room with a weird light that softened into shadows 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 319 


in the far corners. In their near glare the hideous 
features of Kelty were brought out in sharp relief, and 
Norman felt that this man would never permit either 
the restraints of law or considerations of humanity to 
stand in the way of the accomplishment of his pur- 
poses ; that he was a man utterly without conscience — 
a mere brute creature of impulse and passion. 

Seated before the fire, the outlaw was silent for a 
time, his scowling features giving evidence of bitter 
thoughts as he slowly filled his corn-cob pipe with 
tobacco which he cut with his dirk-bladed hunting 
knife from a long, black plug. Norman recognized 
the knife with its deer-hoof handle as the one that had 
been stolen with other articles from his extender; but 
he forbore to comment. Having filled and lighted his 
pipe the outlaw closed the knife, and returned it to his 
pocket. He blew a few reflective whiffs up the big 
fireplace, and, presently, returned again to the subject 
which appeared to be uppermost in his thoughts. 

“ Do you know, pal,” he declared, solemnly, “ that 
this world is full of thieves ? ” 

“ And also lots of good people,” declared Norman. 

“ That’s a side of life I haven’t seen much of,” 
declared Kelty ; “ but I know a heap about the other. 
The big thieves usually go free. It’s mostly the 
unlucky little ones like me that get pinched, and have 
to do time.” 

Norman made no reply. He was thinking how 
strongly the experiences of an evil life, and the pas- 


320 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


sions of an evil mind, make their marks upon a human 
countenance. 

“ I hold,” declared Kelty, after a moment’s pause, 
“ that the world owes every one a living.” 

“ I don’t agree with you,” declared Norman. “ The 
world owes us nothing — except as we contribute to 
its progress and welfare.” 

“ You and I could never agree on things,” declared 
the outlaw. “ You were born with a gold spoon in 
your mouth. If you’d had the hard knocks I have 
you’d look at things differently.” 

“ I don’t think so,” insisted Norman. 

“ It isn’t likely that you would,” declared Kelty. 
“ I’ve been trying to decide whether I was glad to have 
you here or not,” he added, fixing Norman with his 
small, weasel-like eyes. “ In a way you’re an incum- 
brance, and I don’t know exactly how I’m going to 
unload you. I suppose those fellows at Camp 4 will 
scour the whole country for you as soon as this storm 
is over.” 

“ You didn’t expect to stay here right along, did 
you?” asked Norman. 

“ No. I knew I should have to clear out sooner or 
later; but I wanted matters to settle down a little 
before I started.” 

He paused and puffed at his pipe a short time in 
moody silence. 

“ I don’t believe any living creature was ever meant 
to be alone,” he resumed, presently. “ I’ve been com- 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 321 


fortable enough here, heaven knows, but I honestly 
think I was better contented when I was doing time. 
The solitude — the eternal feeling of remoteness and 
silence — has almost driven me crazy. There’s been 
many an hour since I’ve been here that I would have 
given all I had for someone to talk to.” 

“ You’ve been about as bad off as Robinson Crusoe,” 
suggested Norman. 

“ Worse,” declared Kelty. “ He had his poll parrot, 
and, later, his Man Friday.” 

“ That’s now my role, I take it,” said Norman. 

“ I’d give a good deal to feel that you’d be as loyal 
to me as Man Friday was to Crusoe,” asserted Kelty, 
“but I know you are not. You eat my bread. You 
accept my shelter from the storm, and yet you would 
not hesitate to turn me over to the officers of the law 
— even though you knew you were sending me to an 
ignominious death.” 

“ I might have done all that some time ago,” 
responded Norman, “ but I haven’t.” 

“ That’s so,” admitted Kelty. “ That’s what’s puz- 
zled me.” 

“ It’s a pretty good plan to judge people by their 
acts,” suggested Norman. 

“ It’s better not to trust them at all,” rejoined Kelty. 
“ Hark ! ” he added, abruptly. “ How would you like 
to be out in that ? ” 

With the going down of the sun the storm had 
increased in violence. The wind howled among the 


322 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


groaning trees in a gale, tearing off big limbs and 
now and then sending an aged giant of the forest 
crashing down upon the earth. Great gusts of snow 
pelted insistently against the window-panes. 

“ A thousand demons are ranging the wood to-night,” 
declared Kelty. “ I’ve heard ’em before. I’m not 
afraid of dead men, pal ; but I’ll admit that these voices 
of the woods have made me feel mighty creepy at 
times, especially on cold, stormy nights.” 

He lapsed into moody silence, puffing furiously at 
his pipe, and blowing big clouds of smoke up the 
chimney. 

“ I was going through the woods one windy day,” 
he resumed, after an interval, “ and a big windfall 
came crashing down so near that one of its limbs 
upended me into the snow. It seemed like the call of 
fate. I couldn’t help thinking what a horrible thing 
it would have been if it had pinned me down and left 
me helpless, and alone, to die of hunger and cold.” 

Again he paused, and a suggestion of horror shone 
from his small, round eyes. “ When I go,” he said, 
“ I want to go out quickly. How’s Benner ? ” 

“ He’s living, and gaining slowly.” 

“ I owed that fellow one,” rejoined Kelty, bitterly. 
“ He went out of his way to do me a wrong. He 
acted the part of a coward, and insulted and humili- 
ated me. Moreover, he had his plans all laid to pursue 
me further. I’m not denying that I had it in for him, 
and yet if he hadn’t kept after me, and tantalized me, 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 323 


I should never have got after him in the way I did. 
Curse him ! He knew too much, and I don’t allow any 
man to bully or threaten me. I was fair. I gave him 
his chance, and he threw it away. He thought he had 
me foul, and gloated over me.” 

He rose from his chair and walked nervously up 
and down the room. 

“ Oh, how I hated that fellow ! ” he muttered, in a 
voice hoarse with passion. “ I could have torn his 
yellow heart out with a relish. ,, 

Kelty’s features were contorted with rage. He 
looked more like a beast of prey than a human being, 
and Norman shuddered involuntarily at the sight of 
him. 

Presently the outlaw’s passion seemed to have 
exhausted itself. He sank back into his chair, and 
indulged in a low, savage laugh. 

“ It always hairs me up to think of that old skunk,” 
he said, “ but what’s the use. I’ve squared my account 
with him. I’ve paid him in full with interest, and the 
books are closed. I suppose you think I did wrong ? ” 
he said, with a searching glance at Norman. 

“ I don’t think it’s a good thing for any man to take 
the law into his own hands.” 

“ Law ! ” repeated Kelty, derisively. “ Law ! ha, ha, 
that word makes me sick. Don’t you know there is 
no law for me ? Don’t you know that I am a fugitive, 
a renegade, an outcast? Old Benner could put me to 
slow torture. He could pester and nag me until I 


324 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


nearly went crazy, and still be on the safe side of the 
law. There was only one recourse for me. I made 
my own law and saw that it was duly executed. I say 
let every man be a law unto himself.” 

“ The law that protects one man in his rights pro- 
I, tects all other men,” said Norman. “ Surely you can’t 
expect license for yourself, and restraint for everyone 
else.” 

“ I didn’t intend to invade anyone’s rights — if 
they’d left me alone,” protested Kelty. “ I knew that 
sooner or later I’d got to get out, and I planned to 
stock up this camp so as to stay here a spell when the 
time came to quit.” 

“ With other people’s property,” suggested Norman. 

“ There wasn’t anything but what the company and 
the rest of you could well afford to spare,” growled 
Kelty, resentfully. “ It was just a little collection I 
took up — like passing the plate at church — to help 
out a good cause. I felt that all of you ought to be 
willing to do that much for a fellow who was down in 
his luck. As for the pork and beans, and other sup- 
plies I took from the company, I felt they owed me all 
and more than I took. They only half paid me, any- 
way.” 

“ I’ve been told they pay the best wages of any com- 
pany operating in this part of Maine,” asserted Nor- 
man, with spirit. 

“ Perhaps so,” admitted Kelty, grudgingly, “ but all 
the same I never felt that I was getting any more than 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 325 


should come to me by good rights, when I helped 
myself to a few of their supplies. You and Warner 
did a neat piece of work when you discovered my 
system; but you’d never thought of it in the world if 
they hadn’t tumbled to the banjo. I fancy I played 
you a pretty cool bluff, though,” he added, with a 
chuckle. “ Guess I had the both of you on the run.” 

“ We couldn’t seem to put our fingers on you,” 
agreed Norman. 

“ I found out a good while ago that nothing was 
ever gained by getting rattled,” asserted Kelty. “ I’ve 
pulled out of some pretty tight places before now by 
keeping cool. I want you to remember this, pal, I 
have never done bodily injury except to those who 
have pestered me or undertaken to hinder me in the 
exercise of my own freedom.” 

Norman looked at the outlaw curiously. It seemed 
to him incredible that Kelty could be sincere in his 
attempt at self-defence; but he was not familiar with 
the sophistries by which criminals attempt to justify 
their conduct. 

“ It seems to me,” he said, “ that, for a man who is 
so jealous of his own feelings and rights, you have 
had mighty little regard for the rights and sensibilities 
of others.” 

“ You and I can never look at things alike — so it is 
wasting time to discuss such matters,” growled Kelty. 
“ I didn’t bring you here to preach me any sermons. 
I guess we’ll adjourn this Sunday-school. When you 


326 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


get older, if you should happen to, you’ll know more, 
and be wiser.” 

“ I’ve been wondering just why you did bring me 
here,” said Norman, improving the opportunity to 
change the subject. 

“ I didn’t bring you here,” returned Kelty. “ You 
came. Under the circumstances, with this storm com- 
ing on, there didn’t seem to be anything else for me 
to do but to take you in and look out for you.” 

“ You are very kind,” returned Norman. 

“ I don’t know whether you really mean that or 
not,” said Kelty, “ but if you were a little better 
acquainted with me you’d think so.” 

He rose from his chair, placed his pipe on a shelf 
made by a projecting flat stone in the fireplace, and 
stood for a moment regarding Norman in silence. 

“ I don’t want you to say that I ever had you under 
restraint,” he announced, presently. “ I have never 
been in the kidnapping business.” He walked to the 
front door and threw it open. An angry gust of wind, 
thick with sifting snow, came roaring into the room, 
sending the big sparks whirling in a glowing column, 
up the great chimney, blowing out the lamps, and fill- 
ing the dark apartment with the icy chill of winter. 

A moment later Norman heard the door close again, 
and by the light from the fireplace saw the form of 
Kelty outlined in the darkness as he slid the big bolt 
into place. 

“ Carver,” he called from the shadows, “ I don’t 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 327 


want you to feel that you are a prisoner. You can 
go now if you choose, yes, and take with you all your 
property, both that you brought with you, and that 
which I have borrowed of you. If you stay with me 
under this roof to-night it must be of your own free 
will.” 

“ Of course I want to stay with you,” said Norman, 
hastily. “ You know very well it would be suicide for 
me to go out at this hour, and in this storm.” 

“ I’m glad you recognize that fact, pal,” said Kelty. 
“ You know now that if I were inclined to do you 
physical injury I would only have to drive you from 
this shelter, and Nature would dispose of you.” 

“ I know that perfectly well,” acquiesced Norman. 

“ I don’t think the fool-killer will ever have any use 
for you,” declared Kelty. “ I guess you and I under- 
stand one another. If we do, there need never be any 
trouble between us. You needn’t bother to light those 
lamps again. It’s time to go to bed.” 

Norman, following Kelty’s example, drew off his 
leggings and moccasins, and placed them upon one 
side of the fireplace. 

“ Feet wet?” inquired the outlaw. 

“ No.” 

“ Well, you’d better put those leggings where they’ll 
warm up a little over night, and toast your feet a bit 
before you turn in.” 

“ Thanks,” returned Norman, surprised at the sug- 
gestion. “ I think that’s good advice.” 


328 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


For a moment they sat in silence before the fire, now 
burning low, with their feet extended towards its glow- 
ing coals. 

“ You’ve had a better education than most men who 
work in the woods,” ventured Norman, breaking a 
silence that was beginning to grow oppressive. 

“ How do you know ? ” demanded Kelty, sharply. 

“ Oh, I judged from your talk,” rejoined Norman. 

“ I’ve had a good many things I didn’t deserve,” 
declared Kelty. He seemed about to add something 
further; but paused abruptly, and reaching forward 
took his pipe from the rock shelf, produced the knife 
and black plug from his pocket, and proceeded to fill 
it with laborious care. 

“ Turn in when you like,” he said. “ You needn’t 
wait for me. Think I’ll sit up awhile, and smoke 
another pipe.” 

Norman removed his sweater, and hung it upon a 
chair with his sheep-skin lined coat. Then, without 
further undressing, he laid down on the bed that had 
been prepared for him. 

In the big woods outside he heard the mournful 
wailing of the winds, and the groaning of tall trees 
as they swayed beneath the driving force of the storm. 

He was unable to account for Kelty’s friendly atti- 
tude, and he could not resist the fear that back of it all 
might lie plans and purposes that boded him no good. 

Several times he roused himself as he was drowsing 
off to sleep, only to find the outlaw bent forward in 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 329 


the soft glow of the dying fire, moodily puffing his 
cob-pipe. 

Presently even this scene faded from his conscious 
vision, as, weary from the day’s exertions, he fell into 
a sound sleep. 


CHAPTER XXV 


A WEARISOME JOURNEY 

“ I guess those box springs worked a spell on you.” 

Kelty stood in the doorway to the kitchen and 
addressed this remark to Norman, who sat up in bed, 
yawning and stretching. 

“ Thought I wouldn’t wake you up,” continued the 
outlaw. “ Our time here’s a good deal like a setting 
hen’s — not worth very much.” 

“ I see the storm is still with us,” said Norman, with 
a glance out the window, where the fine, sifting snow 
was still falling and the wind swirling it into drifts 
against every point in the landscape that could serve 
as a lodging place. 

“Oh, it’s a stayer,” agreed Kelty. “You may set 
the table as soon as you please. I’ve got breakfast 
nearly ready.” 

“ I see you’ve been to the pond,” said Norman, as 
he noted the freshly filled pails of water at the sink. 

“ Not quite so far as that,” returned Kelty. “ There’s 
a good spring of water on the west slope of this ridge.” 

“ You should have routed me out, and have let me 
done my share of the work,” declared Norman, who 
was wondering at the consideration which had been 
33o 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 331 


shown him by the outlaw, and his apparent disposition 
to be sociable. 

“ I knew you were no shirk, pal,” returned Kelty, 
“ but I didn’t need you, so I thought I’d let you snooze 
it out as long as you would.” 

“ He was afraid I might try to escape,” reflected 
Norman; but he almost immediately dismissed the sus- 
picion as scarcely consistent with the manner in which 
Kelty had used him. 

Having completed his hasty toilet, Norman hastened 
to set the table, while Kelty warmed up some baked 
beans and fried a generous supply of venison. 

This, with tea and pilot-bread, constituted the break- 
fast. When it was finished, and the dishes cleared 
away, Kelty started a fire in the big stone fireplace, 
and sat down before it to enjoy a long smoke. Nor- 
man sat upon the opposite side of the cheerful blaze 
in one of the big rockers. The mood of the outlaw 
had apparently changed. He seemed moody and taci- 
turn. Presently he rose and picked up his snow-shoes. 

“ I’m going out a spell,” he announced, abruptly. 
“ If I leave you here, will you be here when I come 
back, or will you improve the opportunity to take 
French leave of me?” 

“ I certainly sha’n’t go out in this storm unless you 
make me,” returned Norman. 

“ I imagine I feel all the time about as the deer in 
the woods do in open time,” declared Kelty. “ Here 
I am for once in my life injuring no man. I am even 


332 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


playing the good Samaritan, and yet society in general 
is after me, and my only safety is in concealment. 
I stand about the same show with my fellow man that 
would be accorded a bear or a bob-cat.” 

“ A person’s reputation is about what he makes it,” 
suggested Norman. 

“ Undoubtedly,” sneered Kelty. “ I’m not posing 
as a saint, and I am willing to admit that most of the 
apostles had me skun a mile in the matter of character.” 

He pulled on a mackinaw over his sweater, pulled 
his toque well over his ears, and stalked out into the 
storm. Norman saw him pause for a moment at the 
foot of the piazza steps to put on his snow-shoes, and 
then strike off through the firs where the trail, which 
had attracted his attention the day before, and which 
had been obliterated by the storm, had formerly been. 

For a moment the impulse was strong upon Norman 
to make his escape in spite of the storm ; but the thought 
of his promise to Kelty restrained him. The outlaw 
had used him with unexpected kindness and had trusted 
him. He would not abuse his confidence. He busied 
himself putting the camp in order, and, having com- 
pleted this task, took a copy of Longfellow’s poems, 
which he had observed among the camp’s limited sup- 
ply of books — most of them paper-covered novels of 
doubtful value — and was soon absorbed in its pages. 
He had read but a short time, however, when the door 
was flung open, and Kelty entered, in a very evident 
state of excitement. His coarse features looked drawn 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 333 


and cruel, and there was a hunted and anxious look 
in his eyes. 

“ You here?” he gasped, as his eye fell upon Nor- 
man. 

“ Certainly. I told you I should remain.” 

“ Who’s been here since I’ve been gone ?*” 

“ No one.” 

“ Look here, boy,” growled Kelty, with an ugly 
scowl, “ don’t try to deal me any dope. I won’t stand 
for it. Tell me the truth.” 

“ I have done so,” returned Norman, with dignity. 
“ I’m not accustomed to tell anything else.” 

“ And you haven’t seen anyone since I was gone,” 
insisted Kelty, incredulously. 

“ Not a soul.” 

“ And you’re not in communication with the camp ? ” 

“ Certainly not.” 

The outlaw looked relieved. 

“ Don’t get your back hair up, pal,” he said. “ I 
just got a bad jolt. Some one’s been spying on us 
within the last half hour.” 

“ What makes you think so?” demanded Norman, 
in a skeptical tone. 

“ I saw his track.” 

“ Saw his track?” repeated Norman. 

“ Yes. It seemed to come out of the firs back of 
this camp. I’m satisfied that they were fresh tracks, 
or, otherwise, the snow would have covered them.” 

“ I think you must be mistaken,” declared Norman. 


334 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ No/' asserted Kelty, doggedly. “ There was no 
doubt about it. Someone wearing long, narrow snow- 
shoes has been spying on us, and he can’t be very far 
away at this minute.” 

He passed quickly to the corner of the room, and 
picked up the Winchester rifle he had stolen from Billy 
Eustace. Seating himself in a chair he proceeded to 
fill the magazine with cartridges which he took from 
his mackinaw pocket. As they dropped into place with 
a cold, metallic click, Norman could not restrain a 
shudder of apprehension. He realized that Kelty was 
in a desperate mood, and was not a man to be trifled 
with. 

Having loaded his rifle Kelty stepped about from 
window to window taking a careful survey of the out- 
look on every side of the camp. So close to it, how- 
ever, were the fir-trees, and so thick was their growth 
that his field of vision was, necessarily, a limited one. 

“ A spy could hide almost under our windows ! ” 
he exclaimed, in disgust, as he completed his observa- 
tions. He passed out into the kitchen, from which he 
returned presently with a leather haversack, and a 
grain bag, both of which were evidently well filled. 

“ Come,” he said, gruffly. “ Put on your things.” 

“What for?” asked Norman. 

“ We’re going away.” 

“ Where?” 

“ That’s my business,” returned Kelty, curtly. “ Do 
as I tell you, and be quick about it.” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 335 


Recognizing both the folly and the futility of resist- 
ance, Norman promptly obeyed the command of the 
outlaw — swinging the bag over his back by means 
of a rope tied to its ends, and which extended over his 
left shoulder and across his chest. Kelty took the 
haversack, which was obviously heavier than the bag, 
and adjusted it upon his back by means of its shoulder- 
straps. Norman carried also an axe, while Kelty took 
along the Winchester rifle. Thus equipped they ven- 
tured out into the storm. 

The cold wind sent a shiver through Norman’s frame 
which did not escape the attention of the outlaw. 

“ This isn’t just the kind of a day that would be 
selected for a Sunday-school picnic,” he said, as they 
paused at the foot of the piazza steps to put on their 
snow-shoes. “ The storm isn’t nearly as bad, though, 
as it was last night,” he added. 

“ I can stand it if you can,” returned Norman. 

Kelty started out at a swinging pace to the left of 
the camp. The strong winds had packed the snow 
into hard drifts, over which they made rapid progress 
on their snow-shoes. 

They followed along to the place where the point of 
land on which the camp stood dipped abruptly to the 
shore of the pond, and then, turning to the left, bore 
away on the higher ground into the deep woods. For 
nearly an hour they swung along without a word. 
Presently, near the top of a ridge, Kelty turned sharply 
about. 


336 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Stop here,” he said, briefly. 

Norman waited a moment, while the outlaw retraced 
his steps a short distance, stopping now and then to 
listen intently. Evidently reassured, he turned and 
came quickly back to where Norman stood. 

“ It was only a pipe dream,” he said. 

“ What was a pipe dream?” demanded Norman. 

“ Why, I thought someone was following us.” 

“ I haven’t heard anyone,” declared Norman. 

“ No. I guess I’ve had my pains for my trouble,” 
rejoined Kelty. “ We’ll push on again. How’s your 
wind ? ” 

“ It would be better if I knew where we were going,” 
said Norman. 

“ Shut up! Not another word about that,” snapped 
Kelty, angrily. “ I’ve let you understand that if you 
keep your mouth shut, and do as I say, no harm will 
come to you, and that’s enough. Come on.” 

They struck out again through the snow-clad woods 
at a brisk gait. The wind blew gusts of snow in their 
faces, and rattled it down upon their heads and shoul- 
ders. Several times it filled the space on the back of 
the neck between Norman’s toque and the upturned 
collar of his teamster’s reefer, causing him no little 
discomfort; but he did not complain. 

It was well into the afternoon before Kelty halted 
in the lee of a spruce-grown ridge, from the foot of 
which a spring of clear water bubbled forth in defiance 
of the winter’s cold. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 337 


“ We’ll have to eat a cold lunch,” declared the out- 
law, as he slipped his haversack from his shoulders and 
laid it upon the snow. “ I don’t care to kindle a fire 
at this time.” 

He opened his haversack and took from it a dipper 
and a big handful of pilot-bread. 

“ This will be a stomach-stayer for us,” he announced, 
as he divided it with Norman. “ To-night we’ll build 
a fire, and have a more substantial layout.” 

The meagre repast was soon completed, and washed 
down with water from the spring, after which the long 
tramp was resumed. 

As the afternoon wore away, the pace at which they 
were going began to tell upon Norman. His legs and 
back ached from weariness, while the axe and bag he 
carried, which had seemed fairly light in the morning, 
appeared to acquire additional weight with every step. 

Finally, unable to keep up the pace, he fell behind. 

A moment later the outlaw turned and came back to 
him with scowling face. 

“ Trying to give me the slip, are you? ” he demanded, 
wrathfully. 

“ No,” replied Norman, doggedly. “ I simply can’t 
stand your gait. I’m no packhorse.” 

“ We’re coming to a camp pretty soon,” explained 
Kelty, in a milder tone. “ I want to make it before 
dark if I can.” 

“ Go on,” said Norman. 

The journey was resumed at a somewhat slower 


338 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


pace. In a short time they came to a small log camp, 
on the edge of what at first seemed to be a big, snow- 
covered plain, but which Norman perceived to be a 
large lake, whose frozen surface bore a heavy weight 
of snow. 

He gazed at it intently, for somehow it seemed to 
have a familiar look. 

His inspection seemed to irritate Kelty. He scowled, 
and threw open the camp door. 

“ Go inside,” he growled. 

The tone of this order stung Norman to the quick. 
While he had fully appreciated the importance of 
avoiding, if possible, any trouble with Kelty, whom 
he knew to be a man capable, under passion, of the 
basest crimes, his temper flashed out resentfully at 
being ordered about like a dog. 

“ Look here, Kelty,” he said, sharply. “ I’ve done 
about everything you’ve asked me to since we met; 
but I’m no yellow cur to be ordered about in that tone 
of voice.” 

“ Don’t you put on any airs with me,” retorted the 
outlaw. “ I didn’t send you any invitation to come to 
me. I gave you an opportunity to go last night; but 
you wouldn’t take it.” 

“ I told you it would have been suicide,” said Nor- 
man. 

“ It certainly would,” agreed the outlaw, “ so I kept 
you, and took good care of you. I saved your life.” 

He looked at Norman with wrinkled brows. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 339 


“ Remember that ! ” he said, in a tone that was 
meant to be impressive. “ I saved your life. ,> 

Norman, whose anger had cooled somewhat, forbore 
to reply. 

The camp they had entered was small and dingy. 
It was made of unpeeled logs, and had a roof of cedar 
splits. It was evidently far from tight, for the fine 
snow under the driving force of the storm had sifted 
through it in a dozen different places, and lay piled in 
little heaps upon the hewn logs that constituted the 
floor. Two rough bunks, one above the other, stood 
in the further corner from the door, while a single- 
sash window in the back end supplied all the light that 
did not find its way within through the loose chinking 
and the gaping roof. Taken altogether it was a far 
from inviting structure. 

“Not quite so gorgeous as Solstein’s, eh?” said 
Kelty, as Norman lay down his bag and axe beside 
the rusty stove that stood in the center of the room. 

“ Not quite,” admitted Norman. 

“ Well, it’s a palace ’side of what it was when I 
first discovered it. Took me the best part of a Sunday 
to clean it out. Notice where that chinking changes? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well, I did that with a big bunch of oakum I 
brought from Solstein’s. Before that there were places 
where the moss had fallen out big enough for a cat to 
crawl through.” 

Kelty threw open the stove door and gave a grunt 


340 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


of satisfaction. “ All ready to light, just as I left it,” 
he said. “ I was afraid some hobo might have come 
along and touched it off.” 

He lighted the birch bark that lay in front of the 
door with a match, and a moment later a genial glow 
of heat was diffusing itself through the cold room from 
the fire that roared up the rusty pipe from the old stove. 

The outlaw rummaged about a moment in his haver- 
sack and produced a candle. 

“ Found a whole dozen of these at the other camp,” 
he announced. “ There’s nothing small or mean about 
old Solstein, when he’s providing for himself.” 

He lit the candle, and stuck it into a hole which 
had been bored at a sharp vertical angle in one of the 
logs of the camp. 

“ That’s my own invention,” he explained. “ Did 
it the last time I was here with an old auger I found. 
I’m not much in favor of light ; but I don’t think we’re 
taking any very long chances to-night.” 

“ I don’t imagine there is anyone else who is fool 
enough to be out in this storm,” agreed Norman, 
glumly. 

“ Still a bit wamble-cropped, are you ? ” asked the 
outlaw, sneeringly. “ You’ll feel better when you get 
something to eat. Here’s our deacon seat,” he added, 
drawing a rude bench beside the stove. “ Let’s sit 
down and thaw out.” 

Norman promptly accepted the outlaw’s invitation. 

“ Pumped out?” asked Kelty, as he drew his knife 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 341 

and plug of tobacco from his pocket, and leisurely filled 
his pipe. 

“ No,” replied Norman. “ I could go a little further 
if I had to; but I shouldn’t care to.” 

Kelty lit his pipe and drew a few long, meditative 
whiffs, with his eyes intently fixed on Norman. 

“ Do you know, pal,” he said, in a curious tone, “ I 
never quite understood how you came down here, into 
this God-forsaken place.” 

“ I thought I made that clear to you once,” returned 
Norman. “ My father thought the change would be 
good for me.” 

“ And I thought it might be healthy for me,” said 
Kelty, with a thin chuckle. “ I wasn’t standing very 
much on ceremony about that time.” 

“ How did you get away? ” asked Norman. 

“ It was a mighty close squeeze ; but I did it,” 
returned the outlaw. “ You see when I found myself 
on that back street I lost no time in skipping down a 
steep hill to the right. About half-way down I crossed 
over and doged down a street to the left. For once 
luck was with me. A fire was on and a crowd was 
chasing it up. I mixed in with the push, and the first 
chance I got I slipped away into a basement. There 
was a coal-bin in one end of it, made with a brick par- 
tition that ran from side to side and extended nearly 
to the ceiling. By good fortune it was nearly empty. 
The door was securely locked ; but I was lucky enough 
to find an empty kerosene barrel near by. I placed it 


342 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


in one corner, where it would be the least likely to 
attract attention, and succeeded in climbing into the 
coal-bin. It was pretty nearly full, and I lost no time 
in burrowing into the pile close up against the par- 
tition. I hadn’t been there but a few minutes when 
two cops came in and searched the basement. One of 
them even stood up on the barrel and looked inside 
of the coal-bin. His elevation, however, just about 
brought his face even with the top of the partition. 
I lay flattened out against the wall on the inside right 
opposite to him, not daring to breathe, and he over- 
shot me; he took a look into the back part of the bin, 
and reported it empty. It was a mighty close shave. 

“ I sneaked out after dark and made my way to the 
home of a cousin of mine, who runs an employment 
agency. He was just fitting out a gang of men for 
an agency in Bangor. So he rigged me up and sent 
me along with them. I suppose the cops were watch- 
ing for me; but it never occurred to them to look for 
me in that kind of a crowd. It wasn’t my first experi- 
ence in a logging-camp — and that’s how I happened 
to turn up at Camp 4.” 

Kelty paused and gave Norman a searching look. 
“ It’s supper-time,” he said. “ There’s a spring a few 
steps from here. If I should take that pail on the 
shelf by the door and fill it with water, would you try 
and skip out on me ? ” 

“ No,” returned Norman, promptly. “ I’ve done 
about all the skipping I care to for one day.” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 343 

“ IT1 take your word for it,” returned Kelty, and, 
picking up the pail, he left the camp, bringing it back 
shortly after full of clear, cold spring water. 

A little later Norman and the outlaw enjoyed a 
hearty meal on pilot-bread and venison steak, which 
they broiled over some live coals pulled forward onto 
the stove-hearth. 

After supper Kelty lit his pipe again and smoked in 
moody silence. Norman, too, was busy with his own 
reflections and had no desire to engage in conversation. 

Presently the outlaw rose and knocked the ashes 
from his pipe against the stove cover. 

“ Which bunk do you want ? ” he asked. 

“ It makes no difference to me,” returned Norman. 

“ Well, take the lower one if you like. Those two 
old blankets are all we have and I’ll divide with you. 
I guess there's wood enough in that pile by the door 
to keep the fire going if we don't sleep too soundly.'' 


CHAPTER XXVI 


AN UNSUCCESSFUL BREAK FOR LIBERTY 

After the long, regular breathing of Kelty indicated 
that he was fast asleep, Norman still lay awake in his 
bunk. The storm had gone down, and he felt that the 
time was at hand when he must part company with the 
outlaw. 

As he thought over the surroundings of their present 
camp, its location dawned upon him like a flash of 
inspiration. They were upon the shore of Quadrate 
Lake! Where else within the territory they had tra- 
versed was there another so large a body of water? 
Surely the black spruce point which he had seen that 
afternoon, on the opposite side of the lake, was the 
one that had attracted his attention when he drove 
with Vede Pelotte and Mr. Collins across the upper 
bay on his way to Camp 4. He remembered, too, of 
having heard Jim Benner speak of a gummer’s camp 
nine miles down the lake shore, and this, he felt con- 
vinced, was it. A mile up the lake he would strike 
the tote-road of the oat teams, which followed the shore 
from that point, and which, although more or less 
drifted, would afford him comparatively easy walking 
on his snow-shoes to the camp. 

344 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 345 


He realized the danger he would encounter in 
attempting to escape from Kelty, who had taken the 
precaution to carry his rifle to bed with him, and who 
also wore a revolver at his belt. Norman knew that 
both of these weapons were loaded, and ready for 
instant use. If the outlaw should discover him in the 
act of stealing away he felt that he would be abso- 
lutely at his mercy. He felt convinced that, under the 
circumstances, his position would be perilous in the 
extreme. 

The lack of blankets had given him a good excuse 
for retaining his clothing, and he had taken the pre- 
caution to leave his leggings and moccasins within 
easy reach of his bunk. 

It was evident that Kelty was not without his sus- 
picions, for he had retired for the night fully dressed. 

Very cautiously Norman reached out and secured 
his footwear, which he had removed for the sole 
purpose of dispelling, so far as possible, any doubts 
the outlaw might entertain regarding his intentions. 
Slowly and carefully, pausing now and then to listen 
to the deep breathing of his companion, Norman 
dressed his feet in readiness for the tramp he had 
planned. 

Soon after he crept silently from his bunk, and 
started for the door. He had gone but a few steps, 
however, before Kelty sat up abruptly in his bed and 
spoke to him. 

“ What you doing ? ” he demanded, distrustfully. 


346 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Fixing the fire,” responded Norman, promptly, as 
he swung open the stove door, and reached for a stick 
of wood. 

“ All right! Fill her up,” responded the outlaw. 

Norman stuffed the rusty stove with what wood it 
would hold, and went back to his bunk. In a short 
time he simulated the long, regular breathing of sleep, 
for he felt convinced that the outlaw was awake, and 
listening to him. 

It was several hours later when he again stole from 
the bunk, but Kelty again challenged him before he 
got half way across the room. 

“ Cold again ? ” he asked. 

“ Beginning to be,” returned Norman, laconically, 
and once more he filled up the stove with wood and 
returned to his bunk. 

“ Your blood must be thinner than mine. Fm per- 
fectly comfortable,” commented the outlaw, drowsily. 

“ Shouldn’t wonder if it was,” returned Norman, 
with a yawn. 

Again Norman had been intercepted in carrying out 
his plan of escape, and his heart sank with the con- 
viction that it would not be possible for him to elude 
Kelty’s vigilance. But fortune favored him. The 
attempt to watch Norman was telling on the outlaw, 
and in the early morning hours he fell into a sleep 
so sound that his snoring woke Norman, who had 
himself fallen into a troubled doze. 

This time Norman reached the front of the camp 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 347 


without interruption and carefully opening the door 
slipped out into the woods. It was but a moment’s 
work for him to adjust his snow-shoes and strike with 
rapid stride up the lake. A few belated stars glittered 
coldly in the clearing sky, and a crescent moon shone 
dully above a bank of clouds, affording him sufficient 
light to hold his course, by following the dark outline 
of the trees that fringed the shore. 

A sense of exhilaration came over him in the thought 
that he was free ! and he pushed forward with a vigor- 
ous swing that took no thought of physical weariness. 
For half an hour he pushed ahead and then, turning 
sharply to the left, he made his way up the bank and 
through a thick spruce growth. He could scarcely 
repress an exclamation of triumph when he emerged 
from it, and came suddenly into the oat road. The 
storm had filled it with drifts, but its way was still 
visible as it wound its course among the tall trees. 
Cheered by the consciousness that he was on the right 
track, Norman pushed forward at a brisk pace. He 
had gone but a short distance when a dark form stepped 
suddenly out from behind a big spruce and confronted 
him. 

“ Stop right where you are,” came in Kelty’s familiar 
voice. “If you go any further I’ll shoot you in your 
tracks.” 

Norman stopped abruptly. In the dim light he was 
conscious that the outlaw was covering him with his 
rifle. 


348 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“You’re a sneak! a skulking sneak! ” hissed Kelty, 
in a voice that trembled with passion. “ You haven’t 
brains enough to know when you’re well treated.” 

“ I don’t know what reason I’ve given you to say 
that,” returned Norman, coolly. 

“ Here I’ve used you like a white man,” continued 
the outlaw, wrathfully. “ Saved your life by giving 
you shelter from the storm, and you repay me by 
creeping away in the night to betray me at the camp. 
You’d done it, too, if you’d known enough to have 
struck across to the oat road, as I did, instead of 
following the irregularities of the lake shore.” 

“ I went into your camp at Deer Trail Pond on your 
orders,” retorted Norman, with spirit. 

“ Didn’t I open the door and tell you that you might 
go again?” demanded Kelty. 

“ Yes — when it was dark and the storm was raging. 
When it would have meant suicide for me to go.” 

“ Shut up ! ” said the outlaw, roughly. “ I won’t 
waste any breath on you. Turn about there and go 
the other way. Move ! ” he growled, as Norman hesi- 
tated. 

“ I don’t know who made me your servant,” said 
Norman, hotly. 

“ It makes no difference,” returned Kelty. “ I told 
you to shut up. I’m through fooling with you.” 

Norman hesitated. A sharp report rang out on the 
air, and a rifle bullet went whizzing by his ear. 

“ That was only a whisper,” declared Kelty, with 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 349 

an oath. “ The next one, let me tell you, will drink 
blood.” 

Without a word Norman turned and started deject- 
edly back towards the gummer’s camp. He recognized 
the folly of resisting Kelty, although he told himself, 
in the bitterness of his despair, that had he been pos- 
sessed of any kind of a firearm he would have fought 
him then and there to a finish. 

“ I told you squarely that if you did as I told you 
no harm should come to you,” said Kelty, savagely, 
as they strode along, “ but now you may as well under- 
stand that I sha’n’t feel so tender of you hereafter. 
You’ve been a spy all the time, and you were hiking 
back to Camp 4 to put the pack on my trail.” 

“ If I’d wanted to do that I’ve surely had oppor- 
tunity enough in the past two months,” said Norman. 

“ You’ve sung that song before,” returned Kelty. 
“ What were you going back for, then ? ” 

“ Because that’s where I belong — because I see no 
reason why I should be your packhorse.” 

“ That won’t wash,” declared Kelty, incredulously. 
“ I’ve taken your full measure. Packhorse ! ” he 
snorted, wrathfully, “ and me lugging three-fourths 
of the load! I’ll give you a load to-day that’ll be a 
load, and you’ll carry it, too, if you’re alive.” 

Norman made no response. He saw that Kelty was 
highly overwrought, and still breathing hard from the 
race he had run in cutting off his escape. Under the 
circumstances, he felt that it would not be wise to say 


350 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


anything that would serve to further infuriate him. 
He knew that, in the frenzy of passion, there was no 
crime that the outlaw would hesitate to commit. 

As they neared the gummer’s camp the first glimmer 
of dawn showed through the trees, and drove the shad- 
ows back from the lake shore. This seemed to arouse 
Kelty to a fresh outburst of wrath. 

“ You young skunk, you’ve been bound to bring me 
into the open,” he panted. “ I’m a good mind to lay 
you out right here. You deserve it, you dirty little 
squealer. We should have been gone an hour ago.” 

He paused a moment and then belched forth a tor- 
rent of blasphemous abuse, such as Norman had never 
before heard from human lips. Oath followed oath 
in rapid succession, and Norman, who abhorred pro- 
fanity in all its forms, could not restrain a shudder. 
The suspicion flashed upon him that this outburst might 
really be the raging rant of a maniac. 

There was a wild glare in Kelty’s eyes that seemed 
to confirm the thought. 

“ Go in! in with you! ” he shouted, as Norman hesi- 
tated a moment at the door of the gummer’s camp. 
“ Go, before I lose control of myself, and shoot you.” 

Norman opened the camp door and stepped within. 
The fire had burned low, and the room felt damp and 
chilly. It was evident that Kelty, in his hasty depar- 
ture, had not stopped to put any wood in the stove. 

“ Sit down,” ordered the outlaw, as he closed the 
door behind him. 



NO KM AN TURNED AND STARTED DEJECTEDLY BACK. — Page 349, 















































































































ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 351 


Norman seated himself a little wearily upon the 
rough bench beside the stove. 

“ You don’t deserve any breakfast,” continued Kelty, 
with scowling brows. 

“ I don’t care for any,” returned Norman, despond- 
ingly. 

“ Doing the grand martyr act, eh ? ” sneered Kelty. 
“ Look-a-here,” he added, with rising wrath, holding 
his rifle with one hand, and shaking his fist in Nor- 
man’s face with the other. “ If you’re wise you won’t 
try any frills on me. You can’t become a martyr; but 
it will be mighty easy for you to become a dead dog.” 

Norman rose to his feet, his face pale with passion- 
ate resentment. “If you waht to shoot me,” he said, 
hotly, “ why don’t you do it ? It’s cowardly to threaten 
an unarmed man. Give me either of your weapons 
and I’ll take my chances with you.” 

“ Ho ! Ho ! Crow, little bantam, crow ! ” laughed 
Kelty, derisively. “Want to fight a duel — do you? 
Well, perhaps, I’ll accommodate you later; but not 
now.” 

He paused, and going to his haversack produced two 
discs of pilot-bread. 

“ Here,” he said, “ take these. There’s a little water 
in that old pail. It’s been there over night, but you’ll 
have to make it do. I sha’n’t dare to trust you out of 
my sight now that you’ve played me this dirty trick.” 

“ I haven’t broken my word to you yet,” returned 
Norman. 


352 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ I haven’t given you any very good chance,” said 
Kelty, sneeringly. 

He busied himself for a time packing up his haver- 
sack. 

“ You’ll carry this to-day,” he announced, when he 
had completed the task. 

Norman picked up the haversack, and laid it down. 

“ I can’t handle that,” he said. 

“ Why not ? ” demanded Kelty. 

“ It’s too heavy, and you know it.” 

“ Put that on,” commanded the outlaw. “ I reckon 
if I could carry it you can.” 

“ You’ve loaded it heavier than you did yesterday,” 
rejoined Norman. “ Besides, you’re a good deal older 
and stronger than I am.” 

Kelty took a step forward, his eyes blazing wrath- 
fully. 

“ So you mean to defy me ! ” he roared. 

“ I mean that I sha’n’t try to do the impossible,” 
responded Norman, firmly. 

Kelty stood glowering at him a moment in silent 
rage. 

“ Of all the lion-hearted nerve ! of all the crust — of 
all the tin-plate audacity and impudence I’ve ever ran 
up against, this takes the cake,” he gasped. “ It’s the 
limit.” 

He passed to the front of the camp and picked up 
a dry birch stick that leaned against the wall by the 
door. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 353 


“ I don’t know just how this happened to be here,” 
he declared, “ but it comes in mighty handy about this 
time.” 

“ What are you going to do with that? ” demanded 
Norman, in alarm. 

Kelty gave vent to a low, ominous laugh. 

“ I thought I’d fetch you back to an interest in life. 
Waking up, are you?” he sneered. “You’ll feel a 
good deal stronger than you do now when I’m through 
with you.” 

Norman’s face was pale, but he looked the outlaw 
squarely in the eye. 

“ Don’t you hit me with that,” he said, warningly. 

“ Defying me, are you ? ” hissed the outlaw. 

“No; but don’t you dare to hit me.” 

There was something in Norman’s tone that caused 
Kelty to pause and glance apprehensively at the rifle 
which he had leaned against the wall on the opposite 
side of the camp. Evidently satisfied that this weapon 
was well beyond Norman’s reach, he stepped forward 
with tight-set lips. 

“ Bluff don’t go,” he growled, hoarsely. 

He swung the stick over his shoulder and aimed a 
vicious blow at Norman; but so quickly did his intended 
victim side-step that it fell with a resounding whack 
across the deacon seat. 

A savage oath burst from Kelty’s lips. 

“ Doing the weasel act — are you ? ” he roared. 

Again he raised the stick, but paused abruptly. 


354 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


A cry of joy broke from Norman's lips. The camp 
door had been pulled swiftly open, and a form lithe as 
a panther’s had bounded into the camp. 

“ Throwum up hands ! ” commanded a deep, guttural 
voice. 

Kelty turned with livid face and dropping jaw to 
look into the muzzle of a Winchester rifle in the hands 
of Sol Soc. 

The beady eyes of the Indian burned with an omi- 
nous light. 

“ Putum up hands,” he repeated, in cold, impassive 
tones, and with a muttered oath, Kelty hastened to 
obey. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


SOL SOC MEETS WITH A SURPRISE 

When Norman failed to return from his tramp in 
the woods Sunday night, the men of Camp 4 were 
disturbed and worried. 

They began to appreciate for the first time, how 
much this cheerful, modest boy, who had frequently 
played the banjo for them of an evening, had con- 
tributed to their pleasures during the long winter even- 
ings. They were the more attached to him from the 
fact that they entertained a feeling, unexpressed but 
none the less strong, that they had been guilty of doing 
him a grave injustice. In their rough way, with the 
latent spirit of fair play that is characteristic of woods- 
men, they had endeavored to atone for their error by 
a special show of friendliness. As a result, Norman 
had passed considerably more of his time after supper 
in the men’s camp, since the brutal assault on Benner 
and the flight of Kelty had brought about the reaction 
in his favor. 

The announcement of Fred Warner, therefore, that, 
with a severe storm coming on and darkness approach- 
ing, Norman had failed to put in an appearance, was 
the occasion of no little anxiety to them. 

355 


356 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


Mr. Collins and Harry McMurray, who had arrived 
at the camp the night before, were besieged with vol- 
unteers who offered their services for the search. Soon 
men were out in all directions, shouting, firing guns, 
and ringing bells. 

The occupants of the beaver house were at no pains 
to conceal their alarm and apprehension. One and all 
joined in the search. Two hours later, chilled with the 
storm which was now sweeping in a gale through the 
woods, the men, wearied and depressed by their fruit- 
less efforts, were back again at the camp. 

In the beaver house Mr. Collins and the two bosses 
were nervously considering the situation. Sol Soc, 
Fred Warner, Pete Bedotte, Tapley, and Peters — all 
of whom had been out in the woods — were also pres- 
ent, and visibly dejected. 

“ It’s no use, Nate,” said McMurray, slowly. “ We 
can’t do a thing to-night. I hope the boy isn’t out in 
this storm ; but if he is, God help him ! ” 

Mr. Collins, who was pacing nervously up and down 
the narrow space in the center of the room, and whose 
face looked pinched and drawn, paused abruptly. 

“ There’s no possible chance of trailing him, is there, 
Sol?” he said, addressing the Indian. 

“ No. Me try. No use. Snow blow; cover track.” 

“ Did he take matches, Fred?” 

“ Yes. He had a water-tight holder full of them.” 

“ He also had my little belt-axe with him,” added 
Eustace. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 357 


“ Ba golly ! dat ban good/’ said Pete Bedotte. 

“ I reckon he’s got in the lee o’ some ridge and built 
a lean-to,” said Tapley, reassuringly. “ With thet an’ 
a good fire he’d weather this, all right.” 

“ Do you suppose he’d know how to build such a 
camp ? ” asked the scaler, doubtfully. 

“ I think he would,” returned Fred. “ He’s seen 
several of them. He asked me once what I would 
do if I should be caught out in the woods in a storm, 
and I told him.” 

“ That’s encouraging,” said the scaler. “ We might 
as well hope for the best. He’s an intelligent boy and 
will, I think, be cool enough to make the best of the 
situation.” 

“ No one can tell what any one will do when they’re 
lost in the woods,” said McMurray, doubtfully. “ When 
they get rattled they usually do the most foolish things 
possible.” 

“ Have you any idea where he went, Fred?” asked 
the scaler. 

“ No. One of the men saw him going up the wood- 
road toward Peltier’s yard. I had no doubt but what 
he would be back in an hour or two.” 

“ Were you ever up with him on that road? ” 

“ Yes. I went up there with him the first Sunday 
he was here. We took an east course from the road 
and snow-shoed through to Deer Trail Pond.” 

The face of the scaler lighted up with a new hope. 

“ Perhaps that’s where he went to-day,” he said. 


358 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“If the storm caught him there, he’s probably all 
right,” declared McMurray. “ He could put up at 
Solstein’s sporting-camp. He knew it was there, did 
he?” 

“ Yes,” returned Fred. “ We took dinner once with 
Baptiste Groder and Pat Farrow on the ice in plain 
sight of it.” 

“ I think you’d better start for there the first thing 
in the morning, Sol,” said McMurray. “ The rest of 
us, at least those of us who know the woods well 
enough to work to advantage, will keep up the hunt 
nearer the camp as soon as it is light enough to move.” 

“ Good,” said the Indian ; and, turning, he stalked 
out of the beaver house. 

The following morning, before sunrise, the tall fellow 
was making his way on snow-shoes over the drifted 
road that led to Peltier’s yard. On his back he carried 
two heavy blankets in a tight roll, inside of which were 
provisions enough to last him two days. Over his 
shoulder he carried a Winchester rifle. For a time he 
kept to the road, pushing forward at a long, easy stride, 
in spite of the storm that was howling through the 
forest, and which beat against his face, pelting him 
remorselessly with puffs of snow. 

Just as the sun was shooting its first shafts of light 
across the tree-tops, he turned abruptly to the right and 
struck off through the deep woods. Here the big trees, 
standing close together and bending before the gale, 
afforded him more shelter than he had enjoyed in the 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 359 


open roadway. Without a moment’s pause the tall 
Indian kept on his way, heading his course for the 
Solstein camp on the shore of Deer Trail Pond, in an 
almost direct line. 

It was evident that the compass played no part in 
Sol’s woodcraft. He went on with the confidence and 
accuracy of his race, to whom the ability to traverse 
the big woods with an almost unerring sense of direc- 
tion seems to be an inheritance from their more savage 
ancestry. 

Once the Indian paused, as his keen eye detected a 
partridge eating the buds on a birch-top. His rifle 
came almost involuntarily to his shoulder ; but he 
promptly lowered it and, with a regretful glance at 
the game he had foregone, continued on his way. 

The wood was full of weird voices as the wind swept 
imperiously and boisterously through the forest aisles; 
and this swarthy-faced man, who moved among them 
with native and unconscious grace, seemed to recognize 
them all. 

Presently he paused abruptly, while a near-by tree, 
unable to withstand the assaults of the wind, went 
crashing down amid the undergrowth, with a quick, 
sharp intonation, like the crack of a rifle many times 
intensified. The Indian scarcely noticed it. With a 
quick glance at the sky, he resumed his tramp and 
pushed forward with the same rapid, swinging stride 
as before. 

At length he came down the sharp incline of a ridge 


360 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


and looked, through a fringe of cedars, upon the cold 
surface of Deer Trail Pond. For a moment he glanced 
toward the point of the land upon which stood the 
camp of Isaac Solstein. It was partially visible through 
the fir-trees that stood about it; and a low grunt of 
satisfaction broke from the Indian, as he noted the 
column of smoke that curled from its big stone chimney. 

For a short time he stood, watching and listening, 
every sense alert to any unusual sound ; but the howling 
of the storm would have drowned out any other noise 
had there been one, while the swirling clouds of snow 
made it difficult, save in the brief periods of lull, to see 
with distinctness any distance ahead. 

Evidently satisfied that the conditions were favorable 
for a reconnoitre, the Indian moved forward in the 
direction of the sporting-camp. He stole cautiously to 
the rear of it, and concealed himself carefully behind 
a clump of young firs. Hardly had he reached this 
point of vantage, before his quick ear detected the sound 
of snow-shoes pounding along the floor of the front 
piazza; and the man whom he had known as Pat Far- 
row stepped upon the drifts with a water-pail on his 
arm. 

It was evident that the outlaw was ill at ease. He 
paused as he left the camp, and glanced suspiciously 
around him. The Indian stood as rigid as a statue, 
tightly gripping his rifle and holding it before him in 
readiness for instant use; but his precautions were 
needless. His hiding-place was an excellent one, and, 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 361 


screened as it was by the sifting snow, easily escaped 
the outlaw’s attention. 

Evidently satisfied that all was well, Kelty moved 
forward in the direction of the spring. The moment 
he was out of sight the Indian quickly made his way 
to the side of the camp, and looked through the window 
into the big sitting-room. 

The sight which met his gaze nearly drove him from 
his accustomed stoicism. Sitting comfortably in a large 
rocking-chair before the cheerful blaze of a big open 
fire, was Norman Carver, apparently absorbed in the 
pages of a book he was reading. 

With rapid strides the Indian beat a hasty retreat 
to his hiding-place. His swarthy and usually impassive 
face came nearer wearing a look of amazement than is 
often the case with the self-contained and stoical people 
of his race. He had expected, if he found Norman 
at all, to find him a helpless prisoner securely bound, 
^nd perhaps gagged ; but here he was, seemingly a guest 
of honor, enjoying himself in apparently perfect free- 
dom by the fire; while Farrow, the man with infamous 
record, the brutal assailant of Jim Benner, was lugging 
the water! 

Swift and harrowing suspicions chased one another 
through the Indian’s mind. Could it be, after all, that 
Norman was what the crew had suspected him to be? 
Could he indeed be the colleague and confederate of 
Farrow, who after assisting him in his thievery had 
gone to join him in the enjoyment of his plunder? 


362 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


In vain the Indian tried to reconcile such a state of 
facts with all the estimates he had formed of Norman. 
No — no. There was evidently some mystery here, 
and, with the patience of his people, the Indian grimly 
determined to wait and unravel it. 

From his post of observation he saw Kelty return 
from the spring, bearing his pail full of water. He 
passed out of sight in front of the house, and almost 
immediately reappeared. It was evident that he had 
paused only long enough to place his pail upon the 
piazza. 

With quick, nervous steps he walked along beside 
the camp, and examined the snow-shoe track beside the 
window. In the lee of the building this track was still 
partially visible, but beyond that the sweep of the storm 
had wholly obliterated it. 

It was evident that Kelty recognized the futility of 
undertaking to follow it. He was plainly disturbed by 
what he had seen. He stood erect and gazed about 
him with a look of apprehension. The Indian, with 
his rifle cocked and ready for use, was only a short 
distance from him; but the screen of boughs and the 
blinding storm effectually hid him. For a moment 
Kelty stood irresolute; and then, turning sharply, dis- 
appeared from view around the front of the camp. 

Squatting upon his snow-shoes, the Indian stolidly 
awaited further developments. 

In a short time his vigil was rewarded by the appear- 
ance of Kelty and Norman, fully equipped for a jour- 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 363 


ney. Kelty led the way, with a rifle upon his shoulder ; 
while Norman followed after, carrying an axe in 
addition to the burden upon his back. 

Again the Indian was puzzled. Years of work in 
the woods had taught him to regard an axe as a very 
valuable weapon. Surely if Farrow were holding Nor- 
man under duress, he would not have permitted him 
to follow behind with such a formidable instrument of 
assault. 

He silently watched them until they had passed from 
sight; and then, gliding from his place of concealment, 
he took their trail. To one less skilled in woodcraft 
this would have been no easy task. The driving storm 
effaced their tracks almost as soon as they were made; 
but the Indian was too much of an adept to be phazed 
by such difficulties. Little things that would have 
escaped the observation of most men — a broken twig, 
the scrape of a snow-shoe on the side of a tree, the 
absence of snow on the evergreen boughs they had 
brushed aside in passing, the noise they made occasion- 
ally in climbing over windfalls — things scarcely dis- 
cernible and seemingly insignificant, were noted by him 
with wonderful keenness of perception. Again, when 
the wind momentarily died down he would come upon 
their tracks, large and well defined. 

Once he stepped hastily behind a big hemlock as 
Kelty doubled back upon his tracks, only to resume his 
pursuit when the outlaw turned about. 

So sharp was his sight and so keen his hearing, that 


364 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


even the mourning wind and the driving snow could 
not shake his hold upon the situation, or render him 
insensible to any sight or sound that was foreign to 
the woods or out of harmony with Nature’s solemn 
requiem. No hound could have followed the scent of 
a fox more unerringly than this swarthy son of the 
forest followed the course of Kelty and Norman. 

It was well past the noon hour when he stood in a 
thicket of scrub spruces and watched the outlaw and 
his companion eat their frugal lunch. He had eaten 
nothing himself since early morning, but he gave no 
thought to it. He was accustomed to hardship and 
privation. He had work, important work, in hand. 
Somewhere Farrow and Norman must put up for the 
night. Then and not till then would he find time for 
eating. 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


A FRIEND IN NEED 

All through the afternoon the tall Indian followed 
silently after the outlaw and Norman. As darkness 
approached the wind lost something of its fury. 

“ Ugh. Boy tired,” he grunted, under his breath, 
as he noticed Norman’s shorter and more irregular 
steps. 

“ Ugh. Gummer’s camp ! ” he muttered again, as 
the lay of the land revealed to him in a flash of com- 
prehension Kelty’s intended destination. At the same 
time a look of satisfaction stole across his swarthy 
features, as he recollected an old lean-to in a little 
ravine not far from the lake shore. If Farrow’s 
objective point was, indeed, as he suspected, the old 
gummer’s hut, he would be able to camp in compara- 
tive comfort within easy distance of him. 

Had it been otherwise it would not have daunted the 
Indian. He had spent too many nights in the Maine 
woods, in hastily improvised camps, to have any fear 
of the elements. He knew the secrets of the wilder- 
ness, and had tested its hospitality. 

Later he dodged quickly behind two big spruces that 
grew close together; for he had come in sight of Nor- 
365 


366 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


man, who showed unmistakable signs of fatigue, and 
had lagged behind his companion. 

Scarcely had he reached this point of observation 
before he saw the outlaw coming back. His features 
were contorted with very obvious anger, and he evi- 
dently spoke sharply to Norman, although the sound 
of their voices was smothered in a rising gust of wind 
and failed to reach even the keen ears of the Indian. 
He was satisfied, however, as to the nature of their 
conversation; and a glow of satisfaction came into his 
dark eyes with the conviction that Norman was, after 
all, a prisoner. 

Later from a well-chosen point of observation Sol 
watched the outlaw and his companion enter the gum- 
mer’s camp ; and again he noted, with keen satisfaction, 
an evident interchange of angry words between the 
two. 

He stood watching the camp for a time, and pres- 
ently saw Farrow come out with an old, much battered 
water-pail and pass to the spring that bubbled up, in 
defiance of frost and snow, a short distance away. For 
a moment a wild impulse came over him to shoot the 
outlaw. He drew a bead upon him with his rifle and 
thought how easily he could end the existing situation 
then and there; but calmer considerations prevailed, 
and he dropped his weapon back into the hollow of 
his arm. 

He saw Kelty return and enter the camp. For a 
time he maintained his position, watching the rude hut, 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 367 


with every sense alert. The storm was still in progress, 
but much of its force was spent. The Indian was 
apparently insensible to its rigors. Night came on 
quickly. The tall trees threw lengthening shadows on 
the snow, and soon the little clearing was shrouded in 
darkness. Straggling beams from the candle found 
their way out-of-doors through small holes in the loose 
chinking, and sent slender shafts of light into the 
darkness. 

With the stealth and silence of a cat, the Indian stole 
from his place of concealment and approached the camp, 
pausing now and then to listen. Presently he reached 
it and sank upon his knees beside a spot where a 
streamer of light proclaimed a hole in the chinking. 
Applying his eye to this small opening, he saw the 
outlaw and Norman seated side by side before the fire 
in apparent sociability. The outlaw, between the puffs 
of his pipe, was telling the story of what appeared to 
be a former adventure of his, and his companion was 
following his narrative with very evident interest. 

The Indian arose carefully and withdrew into the 
woods as silently as he had come. His plans were 
made. Evidently Norman was not in condition at that 
time to take the long tramp back to camp, and the 
accommodations he could furnish him would not com- 
pare with those afforded by the gummer’s camp. It 
was, obviously, the best thing to let matters rest as they 
were for the night, and seize the first favorable oppor- 
tunity in the morning to close in upon the outlaw. 


368 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


With this conclusion the Indian made his way back 
into the woods. It was pitchy dark, but the fury of 
the storm had appreciably subsided. With wonderful 
skill the Indian picked his way unhesitatingly among 
the tall trees, and presently snow-shoed down the steep 
bank of a ravine through which a brook made its way 
into the lake. 

The Indian came to a stop at a point where two 
massive boulders jutted from the bank. The space 
between them had been enlarged by digging back into 
the hard clay, and a roof had been formed by extend- 
ing poles from one boulder to the other and covering 
them in with fir boughs. This roof was now piled 
high with drifted snow. It was a natural camp of the 
lean-to order, admirably situated to escape the fury of 
the winter storms. 

The Indian slowly drew a pair of heavy woolen mit- 
tens, which he had disdained to wear during the day, 
from the pocket of his mackinaw, and put them upon 
his hands. Thus fortified, he leaned his rifle against 
one of the boulders, and proceeded to brush the snow 
from the mouth of the camp. As he went deeper into 
the artificial cavern there was less of it, and in the far 
end the fir boughs upon the floor were scarcely covered. 
A grunt of satisfaction came from the Indian as he 
found, close against the clay wall at the rear, a pile of 
dry wood and birch bark which had evidently been left 
there on some previous visit. Carrying part of this 
to the front of the camp, he soon had a cheerful fire 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 369 


blazing before the opening. This done, he carefully 
picked up the fir boughs from the floor, shook them 
free from snow, and returned them to the same place. 

From a near-by fir-tree he cut a number of fresh 
boughs and placed them upon top of the old ones. 
Then, unstrapping the blankets which he carried on his 
back, he spread one over the boughs,, rolled himself 
tightly in the other, and lay down upon his primitive 
bed, with his feet toward the fire. 

The wind was dying down, but still swept in fitful 
gusts through the forest, filling the sombre reaches with 
a myriad weird and mournful voices. To the Indian, 
however, they constituted a wild music in keeping with 
his nature; and, under its spell, he fell into a heavy 
slumber. 

Several times during the night he woke, put fresh 
wood upon his waning fire, and while its cheerful blaze 
threw a circle of light into the darkness of the gully, 
rolled himself in his blanket again, and once more fell 
fast asleep. 

Toward morning his fire burned low, but a few live 
coals were still buried in its smoldering embers. The 
Indian unrolled himself from his blanket, and with 
some birch bark was coaxing forth a new blaze, when 
he was startled by the report of a gun. He sprang 
quickly to his feet, seized his rifle which leaned against 
the boulder where he had left it when he first lay down 
to sleep, and stood with head bent forward at rigid 
attention. He was no longer the stolid, impassive 


370 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


member of the camp crew. Every nerve was vibrant 
with expectancy, every faculty alert to catch any fur- 
ther sounds that might come to him. A terrible fear 
was upon him; had he made a mistake in waiting? 
Was this report, after all, the announcement of a trag- 
edy? Had Kelty added a new horror to the long list 
of his offenses, by making away with Norman? The 
Indian’s face paled under his native bronze at the mere 
thought. Hastily buckling on his snow-shoes, he stole 
forth into the dark woods above the gully, and made 
his way swiftly and silently toward the oat road that 
ran along the lake shore. He moved with a stealthy, 
gliding motion, avoiding as if by intuition all natural 
obstacles, and presently paused abruptly in the rear of 
a big hemlock that grew a few feet back from the oat 
road. His quick ear had detected the sound of voices, 
and he knew that they were coming in his direction. 

He had scarcely gained this shelter when Kelty and 
Norman came along the road. The desperado, with 
angry oaths, was driving his prisoner before him. It 
was evident that he was in no enviable frame of mind. 

“ I’m a good mind to lay you out right here,” came 
in Kelty’s familiar tones. “ You deserve it, you dirty 
little squealer ! ” 

The listening Indian felt a thrill of exultation. He 
was no longer in doubt as to the relation which Nor- 
man bore to the desperado. The boy was a prisoner 
and was being held by force. He^had attempted to 
escape, had been recaptured, and was being escorted 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 371 


back to the old gummer’s camp by the resentful Kelty, 
who was obviously in a high state of rage and excite- 
ment. Only the inherent caution of the Indian pre- 
vented him from indulging in a triumphant whoop. 

A moment later his eyes blazed and his dark features 
were contracted with anger at the wild abuse which 
Kelty was heaping upon Norman. As the desperado 
passed him he drew a bead upon him with his rifle, 
while his finger fairly itched to pull the trigger. Never 
in all his venturesome and disreputable life had Kelty 
been in greater danger than he was at that moment. 
With a mighty effort the Indian stifled his wild impulse, 
and swung his rifle upon his shoulder. He moved 
silently along behind the screen of trees that bordered 
the oat road, keeping within hearing distance of Kelty 
and his prisoner. 

Presently they came within sight of the gummer’s 
camp, and the Indian heard Kelty peremptorily order 
his prisoner inside, and saw Norman obey. Gliding 
to his former post of observation at the side of the 
camp, Sol leaned his rifle against the rough logs and 
resumed his vigils. If Kelty had come out into the 
open at that time, it is probable that the Indian would 
have shot him promptly and without remorse; but the 
desperado was too busily engaged with his prisoner to 
think of leaving the camp. It was evident that he was 
in a revengeful frame of mind, and that Norman’s 
condition, if he were forced to remain with him, would 
be decidedly dangerous and uncomfortable. 


372 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


To the listening Indian the conversation, heated as 
it was, between Kelty and Norman, was a genuine 
pleasure. It fully established the groundless character 
of the suspicions he had entertained; showed clearly 
the relationship between the outlaw and his young 
Companion; and carried the assurance that, whatever 
dark deeds might properly be charged to Kelty, Nor- 
man had been in nowise concerned in them. 

Sol’s grim mouth relaxed into something like a smile 
of satisfaction at Norman’s spirited offer to meet Kelty 
upon even ground, if he could have the use of either 
one of the outlaw’s weapons. 

“ Good boy ! Gotum spunk ! ” he murmured, approv- 
ingly, under his breath. His dark face clouded omi- 
nously as he listened to the conversation between Kelty 
and Norman in regard to carrying the pack. It was 
evident that the coarse and brutal nature of the outlaw 
was asserting itself in his effort to retaliate upon his 
prisoner for attempting to escape. 

Through the hole in the chinking between the camp 
logs the powerful form of Kelty was plainly visible to 
Sol Soc, and once or twice the impulse was strong upon 
the Indian to end the desperado’s career there and then. 
He pulled a long dirk-knife from a leather sheath 
attached to his belt and ran his thumb reflectively along 
its keen edge. Then, with something like a sigh, he 
returned it again to the place from which he had taken 
it. Obviously the restraints of civilization were resting 
heavily upon his wild spirit. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 373 


The altercation within the camp grew louder and 
sharper. Norman had flatly refused to act as a pack- 
horse for Kelty in carrying the heavy load the des- 
perado had prepared for his punishment. 

It was evident that the boy was stubbornly deter- 
mined in the matter, and the dark eyes of the Indian 
flashed with approval of the spirit he displayed. 
Unquestionably, matters inside the gummer’s camp 
were rapidly approaching a crisis. It was easily to 
be seen that Kelty would not tamely submit to have 
his authority defied. A nature so brutal and tyrannical 
as his would hesitate at no outrage, or shrink from 
no crime in the accomplishment of his purposes. 

The Indian, with the quick intuition of his race, 
divined the desperado’s purpose as he strode across 
the camp floor to secure the stout stick which leaned 
against the wall by the door. 

The time for action had arrived. Rising from his 
knees, Sol made his way with cat-like stealth to the 
front of the camp — a precaution that was wholly 
unnecessary, so busily occupied was Kelty in his attempt 
to coerce Norman. In front of the door the Indian, 
leaning his rifle against the camp, knelt first on one 
knee and then on the other, and removed his snow- 
shoes. 

Through the rough cleated door of the camp the 
voices of Kelty and Norman were clearly audible. 

“ Bluff don’t go ! ” Sol heard the desperado exclaim 
in tones tense with passion. 


374 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


Almost immediately there came a resounding whack 
from inside the camp, followed by an oath from Kelty. 
With a quick movement the Indian reached forward 
and grasped his rifle. Had Kelty been less occupied 
he might have heard the sharp click of the hammer, as 
Sol brought it to a full cock; but he had allowed his 
wrathful resentment at Norman’s show of independence 
to run away with his caution. 

The Indian waited no longer. With a quick move- 
ment he pulled open the rude door, and sprang within 
the camp. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


THE PASSING OF CLOUTER KELTY 

For a moment after Kelty had complied with his 
command to put up his hands, the Indian stood regard- 
ing him with an expression of mingled hatred and con- 
tempt on his usually imperturbable features. 

Norman, overjoyed at Sol’s opportune appearance, 
stood by the rude bench in front of the bunk, fairly 
dazed by the sudden and unexpected turn of events. 
He half expected to see Kelty disregard the Indian’s 
rifle and close with his captor, but the desperado had 
no such intention. He knew that the first hostile move- 
ment on his part would mean instant death to himself. 
His face paled under the Indian’s burning gaze; and, 
although he endeavored to meet the predicament in 
which he found himself with a show of bravado, it was 
evident that he was not a little surprised and cowed 
by the situation. 

“ What ye want o’ me ? ” he demanded, in a surly 
tone. 

“ Takum his knife! ” responded Sol, coolly, address- 
ing Norman, who lost no time in relieving the des- 
perado of the big hunting dirk which he carried at 
his belt. 


375 


376 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Take gun. Coverum,” commanded the Indian. 

Norman stepped to the side of the camp, and, pick- 
ing up the Winchester rifle which Kelty had leaned 
against the wall, drew a bead on the outlaw. 

With a grunt of satisfaction, the Indian lowered 
his rifle. Passing to the opposite side of the camp, 
he leaned it against the log wall, and drawing a piece 
of tarred rope from the pocket of his mackinaw, 
approached the outlaw, whose weasel-like eyes were 
glaring at Norman with wild and impotent rage. 

“ Putum hands behindum ! ” ordered Sol, as he came 
up beside Kelty. 

The desperado made a motion as if to comply with 
this request, but suddenly threw his arms about the 
Indian and swung him in front of him. 

“Ha! ha! why don’t you shoot?” he called, jeer- 
ingly, to Norman, who dared not use his rifle for fear 
of hitting Sol. “ One bullet will do for both of us.” 

The triumph of the outlaw, however, w§s short-lived. 
Although a powerful man, he was no match for the 
Indian. A brawny hand shot forward and closed upon 
his throat with a vise-like grip, a foot was thrown 
behind him, and he fell heavily to the floor with Sol 
on top of him. The Indian still retained his grip upon 
Kelty’s throat, and it was evident that he was fast 
strangling the desperado, whose face grew black in 
his frantic efforts to breathe. 

“Don’t kill him, Sol!” cried Norman, alarmed at 
the situation. 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 377 


“ Me squeezeum out fight,” responded the Indian, 
grimly. He relaxed his hold upon the throat of the 
outlaw, who lay weak and gasping upon the floor, and 
rolled him upon his face. 

“ Getum rope,” he said, briefly. 

Norman hastened to pick up the piece of tarred rope 
from the place where it had fallen in the brief struggle 
between the two men, and handed it to Sol. In a short 
time Kelty’s hands were securely tied behind his back 
and he was thrown, still gasping, upon the bunk. 

“ Ugh ! He t’ink he smart man ! ” grunted the 
Indian, resentfully. “ Mebbe he don’t be so smart 
nex’ tarn.” 

He paused and, fishing about in one of his mackinaw 
pockets, drew forth another and longer piece of the 
tarred rope. 

“ Tieum feet, too,” he announced; and, with surpris- 
ing rapidity, he proceeded to lash Kelty’s legs securely 
together at the ankles. 

“ Come,” he said, laconically, when this task was 
completed. “ Go back to camp.” 

“ What shall we do with this man ? ” demanded 
Norman, with a nod at Kelty. 

“ Leaveum. Tote-team come getum.” 

“ Is Vede Pelotte at the camp?” persisted Norman. 

The Indian nodded. 

“ Can we get there before he leaves for Gamewood 
siding? ” 

“ Yes. Roads all blocked,” responded the Indian. 


378 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


Without further words, Norman picked up his snow- 
shoes, took the rifle and knife which Kelty had carried, 
and followed the Indian out of the camp. 

As they paused to put on their snow-shoes, Norman 
cast an anxious glance at the sky, in which black, 
angry-looking clouds were beginning to form again. 

“ I thought this storm was over,” he said, “ but it 
looks now as if we were in for another day of it.” 

“ All wind. No snow,” said the Indian. 

“ You don’t think they’ll break out the oat road if 
it storms, do you ? ” 

“ Mebbe not to-day. To-morrow.” 

“ Do you think it would be right to leave a helpless 
man in that cold camp without fire or food all that 
time?” asked Norman. 

“He all right!” responded the Indian, stolidly. 

“ It wouldn’t be Christian, Sol,” declared Norman, 
emphatically. 

“ He no Christian ! ” grunted Sol, with decision. 

“No; but we ought to be,” persisted Norman. 
“ Besides, he used me better than that when I ran 
onto him in the storm. Wait a minute,” and, turning 
about, he reentered the camp. 

“ You’re not going to leave a fellow like this, are 
you?” said Kelty, in a wheedling tone, as Norman 
filled the big stove with chunks of wood. 

“I’ve got to for a while,” rejoined Norman; “but 
I’ll see that relief is afforded you as soon as possible. 
Perhaps we’d better take you back to camp with us.” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 379 


“No — no,” responded Kelty, hastily; “don’t do 
that. I should stand a slim show with that gang. 
Leave me here, and give them a chance to cool off a 
little before they see me.” 

“ All right,” returned Norman. “ Perhaps that’s 
best. They wouldn’t be very cordial with you — 
especially if they knew how you tried to thrash me.” 

“ I was mad. I went too far,” said Kelty, in a tone 
of apology. “ Don’t lay that up against me, pal.” 

“ I won’t make it any harder than I can for you. 
It will be bad enough at best,” responded Norman; 
and, turning about, he went outside the camp, where 
the Indian was impatiently waiting for him. 

“ Shall we take the rest of Kelty’s things ? ” he 
asked, when he had donned his snow-shoes. 

“ His axe — his snow-shoes ? ” questioned Sol. 

“ Yes.” 

“ No. Getum later.” 

Without further words Norman shouldered the rifle 
he carried, and followed the easy, swinging stride of 
the Indian along the open way that led from the gum- 
mer’s camp to the drifted surface of the oat road. 

The journey to Camp 4 was made almost in silence, 
the Indian, impassive and taciturn, leading the way at 
a brisk pace, with easy, springy gait and scarcely a 
glance at his companion. Only once he paused and 
looked sharply at Norman. 

“Tired?” he asked, briefly. 

“ I’m all right. Go on,” returned Norman,- 


380 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ Good ,” grunted the Indian, approvingly ; and, turn- 
ing abruptly, he resumed his journey. 

As they proceeded, the sky grew more and more 
overcast. Blustering gusts of wind dashed whirling 
eddies of snow in their faces and swept roistering away 
among the swaying trees. A leaden pall hung over the 
dark and sombre forest. Despite the exultation that 
had followed his escape from Kelty, Norman could not 
help feeling depressed. He was puzzled to account for 
the outlaw’s treatment of him when he had first fallen 
into his hands at Solstein’s sporting-camp. Certainly 
if Kelty had desired his death he could easily have 
brought it about by forcing him out into the storm that 
first night when he had given him food and shelter. 
If some transient mood, some softer motive, had influ- 
enced the desperado to this course, it was evident that 
it had passed away when he attempted to escape; and 
Norman shuddered to think what his fate might have 
been had not Sol Soc come to his rescue. 

As they emerged from the oat road into the tote- 
road that led to the camp, a whirlwind of snow that 
was moving up toward the clearing from the lake sud- 
denly resolved itself into a mammoth snow-plow held 
down by a crowd of men, and drawn by eight powerful 
horses. A quick shout of triumph went up from the 
men as they caught sight of the Indian and his com- 
panion. In a moment they gathered about them to 
shake hands with Norman and ply him with eager 
questions. Even “ Noisy ” Peters, the teamster, left 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 381 


his horses standing in the road, and hastened to add 
his greeting. 

“ I’m mighty glad to see ye back,” he said, wringing 
Norman’s hand with a heartiness that made him wince. 
“ We was afeared we’d lost ye.” 

“ Thank you,” responded Norman, gratefully. 

Tears came into his eyes at the unaffected cordiality 
and sincerity of the welcome given him by these rough 
men whose good opinion he had come to value very 
highly; and it was with some difficulty that he con- 
trolled his voice sufficiently to answer the torrent of 
questions they rained upon him. In the fewest pos- 
sible words he related his experiences from the time 
he left the beaver house Sunday afternoon until his 
rescue at the gummer’s camp that morning by Sol Soc. 
Exclamations of surprise and rough expressions of 
sympathy greeted his narrative as he went along, and 
an involuntary cheer broke from the men when he 
related the manner in which Sol Soc had saved him 
from a thrashing at the hands of Kelty, and the vigor- 
ous manner in which the tall Indian had subdued and 
bound the desperado. There was an immediate demand 
for Sol, but he had taken advantage of the interest 
awakened by Norman’s story, to slip away to the camp. 

When Norman, escorted by the big snow-plow, came 
into the clearing, he was met by Fred Warner and 
Felix Lamar re, who greeted him most heartily. 

“ We’ve been awfully worried about you, old nian,” 
said Fred, as he clasped him warmly by the hand; 


382 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ but I felt sure you’d turn up all right. All the same,” 
he added, “ I shall sleep better, now that you’re back 
again.” 

“ Thank you, Fred,” returned Norman, warmly. 
“ I’m afraid I don’t deserve your confidence. Watch- 
ing Sol has convinced me that I haven’t yet learned 
the first rudiments of woodcraft.” 

“ His skill as a woodsman has certainly come into 
good play in your case,” returned Fred, who had 
managed, with some difficulty, to gather a few of the 
facts regarding Norman’s experience from the sphinx- 
like Sol. 

Norman was about to reply when an exclamation of 
delight came from behind him, and he turned to meet 
the outstretched hands of Mr. Collins. 

“ I feel fifty years younger,” declared the scaler, 
taking both of Norman’s hands in his. 

“ And I feel at least forty years younger, myself,” 
declared Harry McMurray, whose tall form towered 
behind the scaler. “ It’s lucky for Nate and me that 
the wind was just right to bring that cheer the boys 
gave you, to our ears. We’d started out to make a 
day of it; but when we heard that, we turned about 
and put for the camp, pretty well satisfied in our own 
minds that you’d turned up safe and sound.” 

“You ban had some breakfas’?” interposed Felix 
Lamarre, making his reappearance from the dingle. 
“ Sol Soc ban eat so moche I mos’ ’fraid he bus’ 
heemse’f.” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 383 


“No,” admitted Norman, with a laugh; “ I’ve been 
so glad to get back again that I forgot all about my 
not having had any breakfast.” 

“ Go along in and fill up,” said the scaler. “ Harry 
and I will come in and hear your story between the 
mouthfuls.” 

“ Put up your horses, boys,” said McMurray to the 
men. “ It’s not a mite of use trying to break out until 
this storm is over. The snow fills right back into the 
road behind you. It’s a good deal like trying to 
shovel a path through a binful of oats. Ah! here 
comes Billy,” he added, in a tone of relief, as the camp 
boss came in view round the turn at the logging-road 
and snow-shoed down the short cut to the hovels. 

“ Thank God ! ” ejaculated Eustace with fervor, as 
he caught sight of Norman. “ I’d almost given up 
hope of ever seeing you again,” he added, as he took 
Norman’s hand in a hearty clasp. 

“ I’m like a bad penny. I always return,” said Nor- 
man lightly, although he was more touched by this 
expression of friendly interest on the part of Eustace 
than he would have cared to show. 

“Tell you what, boys,” said McMurray, briskly; 
“ let’s all go into the men’s camp and let Norman eat 
his breakfast in peace. When he’s through he can 
come in there and tell his story where we can all 
hear it.” * | k \ 

This plan met with instant and hearty approval. 
Norman went into the cook’s camp, where Felix had 


384 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


an appetizing breakfast awaiting him. In his enthu- 
siasm he had even opened a pail of raspberry jam, 
which he had kept jealously in store for some special 
occasion. This delicate attention did not escape Nor- 
man’s observation, but when he ventured to thank the 
smiling Felix for it that worthy made light of it. 

“ Ba Joe! Dat not’ing ’t all, Mesieu Carvarre,” he 
said. “ Not’ing was ban too good wit’ you on dees 
camp.” 

Across the table Sol Soc was putting away, in 
solemn silence, the last vestiges of a prodigious break- 
fast. When he had finished he rose without a word 
and stalked away to the men’s camp across the dingle, 
leaving Norman alone with Fred Warner and the cook. 

Shortly after, Norman, seated on the deacon seat 
before the roaring fire in the men’s camp, related in 
detail to Mr. Collins, McMurray, Eustace, and the 
members of the crew, all the experiences he had under- 
gone during the time he had been absent from Camp 4. 
So interesting was the story he had to tell, that even 
Felix Lamarre and Fred Warner left their work to 
listen to it. From the comments of the men it was 
evident that Keltv had been wise in not desiring to 
return to them under the circumstances. 

“ Looks to me as if you left Kelty in rather a tight 
fix,” said the scaler. “ It’s a bad sort of day for a 
man to be lying bound and helpless in a log hovel. 
What if it should catch afire or the wind blow the 
door open ? ” 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 385 


“ Ugh ! Bad man ! ” grunted Sol Soc, as if the 
mere statement of this fact settled the whole question. 

“ I’ll admit all that, Sol,” responded the scaler; 
“ but still he has some rights we are bound to respect, 
and certainly we would not wish to leave him long 
alone in his present predicament. I reckon Til take a 
run down to the gummer’s camp and have a look at 
him.” 

“ And I’ll go along with you,” added Harry McMur- 
ray. “ Perhaps we’d better take three or four blankets, 
and have Felix put us up a lunch. We may want to 
stay all night.” 

In a short time these preparations were completed; 
and the scaler and McMurray, arrayed in their warmest 
clothes and wearing snow-shoes, took their way down 
the drifted tote-road that led from the camp, and were 
speedily lost from sight in the eddying snow. 

Norman remained with Eustace and the men in the 
big camp, and was obliged to go over again and again 
with them the various features of his experience with 
Kelty. 

Towards noon the wind died down, and the sun 
broke through the thinning clouds, now floating away 
beyond the horizon. 

After dinner Camp 4 became alive with bustle and 
activity. The horses were hitched onto the two big 
snow-ploughs; and, while one crew was sent to break 
out the main road from the yards to the landing, the 
other, under the immediate direction of Eustace him- 


386 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


self, gave its attention to the oat road. 

Vede Pelotte volunteered to look after Fred War- 
ner’s work, and as a result the cookee donned his snow- 
shoes and accompanied Norman along the oat road. 
In a short time they overtook the big snow-plough, 
which, despite the eight horses attached to it, was not 
making very rapid progress. 

“ There are stretches,” explained Billy Eustace, 
“ where we get along fairly well ; and then we run 
into drifts that make it slow work for us. It’s going 
to be a big job at best, but I reckon we’ll get there 
eventually.” 

“ I think Fred and I will hurry on to the gummer’s 
camp,” said Norman. “ I’m a little anxious to get 
another look at Kelty.” 

“ And I’d rather enjoy getting a squint at him 
myself,” confessed Eustace. “ Reckon I’ll go along 
with you. I guess the boys can manage to worry along 
without me for a spell.” 

With such companionship, and the sun shining 
brightly overhead, Norman found the return to the 
gummer’s camp a far more cheerful journey than the 
one he had made from there with Sol Soc in the early 
hours of the morning. 

As they came in sight of the rude log structure, they 
saw by the smoke pouring from the length of rusty 
stove pipe projecting above its roof, that it was occu- 
pied. 

“ Harry and Nate are settling down to housekeep- 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 387 


ing,” announced Eustace, with a laugh. “ You can’t 
lose them.” 

He swung open the rude door to the camp — then 
paused irresolutely upon the threshold, surprised at 
the scene which met his gaze. 

A big fire burned in the stove. A dark form, 
strangely still, lay upon the bunk. Over it bent the 
scaler and Harry McMurray, busily at work chafing 
a man’s hands and face with snow, a full pail of which 
sat near at hand upon the rude bench that served as a 
deacon seat. 

Instinctively Eustace and the boys felt themselves 
in the presence of a tragedy. They entered the camp 
quietly, and closed the door softly behind them. 

Mr. Collins looked up briefly from his work. 

“ I reckon he’s going,” he said. “ He rolled off the 
bunk after Sol and Norman left him this morning, 
hitched along to the place where the axe leaned against 
the wall and cut the ropes, which bound his arms, 
against its edge. When he was free he put on his 
snow-shoes, shouldered the axe, and struck out across 
the lake in the very teeth of the storm.” 

Eustace gave a whistle of amazement. 

“ Yes, it was a foolhardy thing to do,” conceded the 
scaler ; “ but he was desperate, and men in that mood 
take long chances.” 

“ No man could cross this lake on foot at this point, 
in such a storm,” commented McMurray. “ There’s 
a strong rake of wind out there even now.” 


388 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ He knows/’ declared the scaler, “ for he went out 
there and brought Kelty in.” 

“ When did you find him?” asked Norman. 

“ Only a short time ago, since the storm went down. 
When the wind was blowing and driving the snow 
before it, we couldn’t see any distance at all on the 
lake.” 

“ Nate saw him out a full mile, half buried in the 
snow,” explained McMurray. “ I went after him. 
Nate went back to the camp and filled the stove with 
wood. Then he came out on the lake and helped me 
lug him in.” 

As they talked they continued their efforts to revive 
Kelty, and with some success. Presently he opened his 
eyes, and glanced wearily at the forms about him. A 
look of recognition came into his face as his glance 
rested upon Norman. 

“ I’m all in, pal,” he whispered, weakly. “ I’m sorry 
I turned against you. It’s — my — temper. I was — 
lonesome. I meant — to — use you white ; but you 
riled and upset me. Don’t — lay — it — up ” his voice 
died away in a hollow gasp. 

The scaler bent above him for a moment ; then slowly 
pulled the blanket over the set and silent features. 

“ He’s gone,” he said, in a low voice, “ before the 
great Judge of judges.” 

Far up the oat road came the faint sound of harness- 
bells. The men were coming near. An hour later the 
members of the “ breaking out ” crew stood about the 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 389 


little cabin hushed and silent under the strange spell 
which the presence of death among them never fails 
to exercise upon the rough men who fight the battles 
of civilization in the heart of the wilderness. 


CHAPTER XXX 


CONCLUSION 

The day following Kelty’s death his body was 
brought to Camp 4 on Vede Pelotte’s tote-team, 
enclosed in a rude coffin hastily constructed by Ike 
Tapley. It was then shipped to Aerie Lake and 
buried in the cemetery at that place — all efforts to 
get into communication with relatives of the deceased 
having been unsuccessful. When the outlaw had thus 
passed finally out of its life, affairs at Camp 4 speedily 
resumed the even tenor .of their way. One long, toil- 
some day succeeded another. The great “ brow ” of 
logs at the landing assumed mammoth proportions, as 
the big teams, urged to their utmost endeavors, piled 
upon it the fast dwindling accumulations of the yards. 

With the first “ breaking up ” of the “ going ” in 
April the last loads were hauled. The Lakeland Lum- 
ber Company had secured its full “ cut ” ; and bosses 
and men, conscious of having won the hearty approval 
of their employers by duty skilfully and successfully 
performed, relaxed in a general spirit of jollification. 
An atmosphere of fraternity and good-fellowship per- 
vaded the camp. The rough friendships of the woods 
usually carry with them a strong undercurrent of 
390 



The big teams. — Page 390. 


























ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 391 


devotion and loyalty. Sentiment finds little expression 
among the hardy men of the woods crews; but it is 
none the less present, under the surface, in pure and 
generous quality. 

The last night in camp Norman sat upon the deacon 
seat and played the banjo, while the men, in rollicking 
mood, danced a wild fandango up and down the camp 
floor. Even Harry McMurray and Billy Eustace, now 
that the need of the impalpable but none the less real 
dignity that hedges about a camp-boss was no longer 
felt, unbent sufficiently to give the festivities the benefit 
of their presence and approval. 

The next morning, after a hearty breakfast, most of 
the members of the crew crowded upon the wagon- 
sleds, bade good-by to Camp 4, and took their depar- 
ture for Gamewood siding, some to return to their 
families and others to spend their hard-earned money 
in reckless carousal during the period that would elapse 
before the beginning of the spring drives. The typical 
woodsman is apt to be an improvident fellow, and is 
often very slow to learn the lessons of experience. 

Harry McMurray, Billy Eustace, Felix Lamarre, 
Fred Warner, Norman, and three teamsters remained 
behind another day to complete the inventory of the 
camp property and pack it for transportation to Game- 
wood siding by the teams retained for that purpose. 
Having completed their task, they took their departure 
the following morning for Camp No. 1. 

“ I’ve got a good job for you boys,” announced Billy 


392 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


Eustace, as he came upon Norman and Fred Warner 
that evening in the beaver house at Gamewood siding. 
“ I’ve just received a letter offering me a foreman's 
position on the East Branch drive. Eve made up my 
mind to accept it. Felix Lamar re has just agreed to 
go along with me as cook. I shall want Fred as his 
assistant and you for clerk." 

“How about the Lakeland Lumber Company?" 
asked Norman, turning to Harry McMurray, who sat 
by the stove. 

The walking boss turned toward him with one of 
his rare smiles. 

“ Our drive doesn’t amount to much on these waters," 
he said. “ Otherwise you may be sure I should hang 
onto Billy. With good luck I shall have all our logs 
out of Gerrish Brook in a fortnight after the ice goes 
out. After that it will be simply a matter of moving 
them along the chain of lakes to the mill with the com- 
pany’s towboat. If you want a good long service and 
lots of experience, I reckon you’d better go along with 
Billy to the East Branch waters." 

“ I’d like mighty well to go," said Norman, with 
enthusiasm, “ but I don’t know what father will say 
about it. Will it be time enough if I wire you after 
I get home ? ’’ he asked, turning to Eustace. 

“ Yes. I reckon I can hold it open for you at least 
a month or so if the present weather holds." 

That night Norman fell asleep revolving plans for 
a spring’s experience on the drive. He had seen one 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 393 


part of the process of converting the resources of the 
big forests to the uses of civilization, and he was eager 
to follow it through to the end. 

There was a lump in his throat when he bade good-by 
to Fred Warner and the others the next morning, and 
took the train for Aerie Lake, where he had agreed to 
spend a day as the guest of Mr. Seavey. All of them 
had become very dear to him in his winter’s association 
with them, and he had come to know and appreciate 
their many sterling qualities. 

Arriving at the little village of Aerie Lake, he found 
Miss Margie awaiting him with a horse and sleigh at 
the station. 

“ Father was detained at the mill,” she said, 
demurely, as she greeted him with unaffected cor- 
diality, “ so I came to meet you in his place. We 
didn’t want to take any chance of your getting lost 
in the great city.” 

Norman glanced with a smile at the few stores and 
houses grouped about the big sawmill that stood on 
the lake shore and obviously constituted the center of 
local industry. 

“ You are very kind,” he said. 

“ I had another reason,” she confessed. “ I’ve 
promised an old friend of yours, in whom I have 
become much interested during the past few weeks, to , 
bring you to him as soon as I could after your arrival 
here.” 

“ Jim Benner?” asked Norman. 


394 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ I shall begin to grow afraid of you if you show 
such powers of divination,” laughed Miss Margie. 

“ How is he getting on ? ” 

“ Nicely. The doctor says if he continues to improve 
in the next fortnight as rapidly as he has in the past 
week or so, he’ll have him home by the end of that 
time/’ 

Norman seated himself in the sleigh beside his fair 
hostess, and, a moment later, was spinning up the 
village street. He was much surprised, when they 
drew up in front of the hospital, to note its generous 
size and architectural beauty. 

“ I doubt if you expected to find such an institution 
up here in the woods,” said Miss Margie, with an 
accent of pride, following his glance. “ I can assure 
you that its appointments are thoroughly modern.” 

“ It is certainly a credit to the community,” returned 
Norman, admiringly. 

“ We owe it all to good Father Boulette,” explained 
Miss Margie. “ It has been a labor of love with him. 
The mill-owners helped with building material, and he 
personally solicited the funds necessary for its con- 
struction. He has visited all the camps in this section 
for several years past, and a large part of the money 
expended here has come to him in one and two-dollar 
subscriptions.” 

“ It will be a monument to his memory after he is 
gone,” said Norman. 

“ So it will,” admitted Miss Margie ; “ but I am sure 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 395 


he has never thought of it in that light. He has looked 
only to the good it would do for those in sickness and 
need.” 

While they talked Norman had blanketed the horse 
and hitched him to one of the posts in front of the 
hospital. 

“ We’d like to see Mr. Benner, please,” said Miss 
Margie to the sister who opened the door in response 
to their ring. 

They were shown up-stairs, and down a long cor- 
ridor, to a small room in the rear of the building. 

Jim Benner, muffled in a warm blanket and looking 
thin and pale, sat in a big rocking-chair beside a clean 
white bed. 

“ See whom I’ve brought you, Mr. Benner,” said 
Miss Margie, as they entered the room. 

“ Norman Carver, sure es preachin’ ! ” exclaimed 
Benner, joyfully, extending a thin hand. “ I’m right 
glad t’ see ye, my boy.” 

“ And I’m mighty glad to see you, Jim,” said Nor- 
man, heartily, taking the proffered hand. “ You’ve 
certainly had a long, hard siege of it, but they tell me 
you are coming now.” 

“ It’s hard killin’ a feller like me,” rejoined Benner; 
“ but if I hadn’t ’a’ ben pretty tough thet rascal would 
sartin sure ’a’ done it ! ” 

“ A miss is as good as a mile,” said Norman. 

“ Two or three on ’em, if it’s a miss like thet one,” 
said Benner, with a nod toward Margie. 


396 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


“ You’re an old flatterer ! ” responded the young 
lady, with a rosy face. “ How did you come here?” 
she asked, with an evident desire to change the subject. 
“ The last time I saw you I think you were in the 
ward.” 

“ So I was,” said Benner. “ But arter I got t’ 
gainin’ I told th’ father I’d got t’ hev a smoke or die. 
He didn’t want me t’ die, so he hed me moved in here. 
Sit down! Sit down, both on ye,” he insisted, hos- 
pitably. “ I want a good long chat with ye,” he con- 
tinued, when they had acted upon his invitation. “ I 
want t’ know every blessed thing es happened arter 
I left camp.” 

Thus admonished, Norman related at some length 
the events that had occurred at Camp 4 after Benner’s 
removal to the hospital. Miss Margie, seated near, 
was a most interested listener to the narrative. 

“ So thet hell-bird hes got through, hes he? ” asked 
Benner, as Norman finished his story. “ Wal, it was 
lucky for him thet he got a chance to die a nat’ral 
death. I never expected thet he would.” 

“ It was better that way,” returned Norman. 

“ Mebbe so ; mebbe so,” responded the old man, 
doubtfully. “ I shall always remember, though, the 
fiendish look on his face when I twitted ’im with bein’ 
Ben Fargo, ’n’ told ’im es how I hed a paper tellin’ 
all erbout th’ goin’s on o’ one Clouter Kelty. I reckon 
he’d ’a’ jumped on me then ’n’ thar if Sol hadn’t ’a’ 
ben t’ work on th’ landin’ with me. He stole on me 


ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 397 


later like a reg’lar hyena, ’n’ th’ fust I knew he was 
nigh was when I turned round t’ leave my work ’n’ 
got this clip on my head. Oh, he meant t’ do me, sar- 
tin sure, ’n’ he would, too, if I hadn’t ’a’ ben uncom- 
mon tough. Wal, good-by, ’n’ good luck,” he added, as 
Norman and Margie rose to go. “ Old Jim will alius 
hev a warm corner in his heart for ye, my boy. When 
ye git round t’ work in double harness ye can’t do 
better ’n to come t’ Aerie Lake,” he added, with a 
twinkle in his eye, whereat Miss Margie, blushing furi- 
ously, shot him a reproachful look, and hastily left the 
room. 

Norman lingered behind for a last word with Benner. 

“ I don’t know but that you’re right, Jim,” he said, 
with a smile. “ Good-by.” 

“ Good-by, my boy. God bless you,” was the husky 
response. 

On the drive from the hospital to Mr. Seavey’s cot- 
tage on the lake shore, Miss Margie was somewhat 
reserved and silent ; but, under the spell of her father’s 
presence at dinner, the embarrassing incident of the 
morning was forgotten, and before the meal was 
over she was chatting with her accustomed spirit and 
vivacity. 

That afternoon Norman accompanied Mr. Seavey 
to the big mill. At the foot of the slip, up which the 
logs were drawn on an endless chain from the lake to 
the mill, was a small pond enclosed with heavy plank 
piling, which was kept free from ice by means of the 


398 ALL AMONG THE LOGGERS 


exhaust steam from the big boilers. Here logs were 
dumped, as they were needed to keep the big mill in 
operation, from the mammoth piles stored on the lake 
shore the previous fall, and by farmers who hauled 
them directly from the stump. 

Norman looked on in wonder as the giant rotaries 
converted these former monarchs of the forest into the 
long and short lumber of commerce. He was amazed, 
too, at the ease with which the power carriers distributed 
it to the various parts of the mill as it came from the 
saws. 

That evening he enjoyed a pleasant chat with Mr. 
Seavey and his daughter before the big open fire in 
the sitting-room of their cottage. Early the next morn- 
ing he took the train for Boston, where he arrived in 
due season, to receive a most hearty welcome from his 
father. He was successful, after some persuasion, in 
securing the General’s consent to his going on the 
drive with Billy Eustace; but what befell him there 
will properly form the subject-matter of another vol- 
ume, entitled : “ With Pickpole and Peavey ; or, 
Two Live Boys on the East Branch Drive.” 


Raymond Benson Series 

By CLARENCE B. BURLEIGH 
Illustrated by L. J. Bridgman Large i2mo, Cloth 
$1.50 per volume 

The Camp on Letter K 

T HE story deals with two active boys in Aroostook County close to the 
northeastern boundary of our country, and where smuggling across 
the Canadian line has been prevalent. Equally ready in athletics, hunting, 1 
or helping their families on the rich farms of that section, these good 
chums have many exciting adventures, the most important of which 
directly concerns the leading smugglers of the district, apd an important 
public service is rendered by the boys. 

“There is an atmosphere about the whole book that is attractive to boys, and it 
will be read by them with enthusiastic delight.” — Democrat and Chronicle % 
Rochester , TV Y. 

Raymond Benson at Krampton 

DAYMOND BENSON and his friend, Ned Grover, go to Krampton 
Academy, which is no other than the noted school at New 
Hampton, N. H., where Mr. Burleigh was fitted for college. We have 
had good books telling of the larger and more aristocratic preparatory 
schools, but never before one that so well told of life at a typical country 
academy of the sort that have furnished the inspiration for so many 
successful men. 

“ It is interesting from start to finish, and while rousing and full of enthusiasm, 
is wholesome in spirit, and teaches lessons of purity and justice and manliness in 
real life.” — Herald <t Presbyter. 

The Kenton Pines 

a t/'ENTON COLLEGE” is Bowdoin 
College, beautiful in its location and 
famous in its history. Raymond’s athletic 
abilities insure him immediate and enduring 
prominence as a student, and the accounts of 
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one. But the book is far more than a tale of 
these things; it is a wonderful picture of life 
at a smaller college, with all its fine hard 
work, “grinds,” and triumphs. It is a book 
that rings true on every manly question. 

“ This book, like the other of the series, is of a very high character, and should' 
be an inspiration to all boys contemplating a college career.” — Interior. 


For sale at all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of 
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PHILLIPS EXETER SERIES 

By A. T. DUDLEY 

Cloth, i2mo Illustrated by Charles Copeland Price per volume, $ 1 .25 


FOLLOWING THE BALL 

H ERE is an up-to-date story presenting American boarding-school 
life and modern athletics. Football is an important feature, but it 
is a story of character formation in which athletics play an important part. 

“ Mingled with the story of football is another and higher endeavor, giving the 
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MAKING THE NINE 

T HE life presented is that of a real school, interesting, diversified, 
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and youth. 

“The storv is healthful, for, while it exalts athletics, it does not overlook the 
fact that studious habits and noble character are imperative needs for those who 
would win success in life.” — Herald and Presbyter , Cincinnati. 

IN THE LINE 

T ELLS how a stalwart young student won his position as guard, and 
made equally marked progress in the formation of character. 

“The book gives boys an interesting story, much football information, and many 
lessons in true manliness.” — Watchman , Boston. 

WITH MASK AND MITT 

W HILE appealing to the natural normal tastes of boys for fun and 
interest in the baseball, the book, without preaching, lays em- 
phasis on the building up of character. 

“No normal boy who is interested in our great 
national game can fail to find interest and profit, too, 
in this lively boarding-school story.” 

— Interior , Chicago. 

THE GREAT YEAR 

T HREE manly comrades, captains respect- 
ively of the baseball, football, and track 
teams, help each other to achieve a “great year” 
of triple victory over their traditional rival. 

“ It is a fine, inspiring story for manly boys.” — N. Y. 

Christian Advocate. 



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Making of Our Nation Series 

By WILLIAM C . SPRAGUE 

Large i2mo, Cloth Illustrated by A. B. Shute 

Price per volume, $1.50 

The Boy Courier of Napoleon 

A Story of the Louisiana Purchase 

W ILLIAM C. SPRAGUE, the notably suc- 
cessful editor of “ The American Boy,” 
has given for the first time the history 
of the Louisiana Purchase in entertaining story 
form. The hero is introduced as a French 
drummer boy in the great battle of Hohenlinden. 
He serves as a valet to Napoleon and later is 
sent with secret messages to the French in San 
Domingo and in Louisiana. After exciting ad- 
ventures he accomplishes his mission and is 
present at the lowering of the Spanish flag, and 
later at that of the French and the raising of 
the Stars and Stripes. 

“All boys and girls of our country who read this book will be delighted with it, 
as well as benefited by the historical knowledge contained in its pages.” — Louis- 
ville, Ky., Times. 

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for more. No praise of this book can be too high.” — Town Topics, Cleveland, O. 
“This book is one to fascinate every intelligent American boy.” — Buffalo Times. 

The Boy Pathfinder 

A Story of the Oregon Trail 

T HIS book has as its hero an actual character, 

George Shannon, a Pennsylvania lad, who 
at seventeen left school to become one of 
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his wanderings, interwoven with excellent his- 
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general reading for the young. 

“It is a thoroughly good story, full of action and 
adventure and at the same time carrying a bit of real 
history accurately recorded.” — Universalist Leader, 

Boston . 

“It is an excellent book for a boy to read.” — New- 
ark , N. J., Advertiser. 


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THE WAR OE 1812 SERIES 

Six volumes Cloth Illustrated by A. & 
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No American writer for boys has ever occupied 
a higher position than Dr. Tomlinson, and the 
“War of 1812 Series” covers a field attempted 
by no other juvenile literature in a manner that 
has secured continued popularity. 

The Search for Andrew Field 
The Boy Soldiers of 1812 
The Boy Officers of 1812 
Tecumseh’s Young Brave 
Guarding the Border 
The Boys with Old Hickory 

ST. LAWRENCE SERIES 

CRUISING IN THE ST. LAWRENCE 

Being the third volume of the “St. Lawrence Series” Cloth 
Illustrated Price $1.50 

Our old friends, “ Bob,” “ Ben,” “ Jock,” and “ Bert,” having completed 
their sophomore year at college, plan to spend the summer vacation cruising 
on the noble St. Lawrence. Here they not only visit places of historic inter' 
est, but also the Indian tribes encamped on the banks of the river, and lear* 
from them their customs, habits, and quaint legends. 

PREVIOUS VOLUMES 

CAMPING ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 

Or, On the Trail of the Early Discoverer* 

Cloth Illustrated $1.50 

THE HOUSE-BOAT ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 
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BY THE SAME AUTHOR 

STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUilOh 

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illustrated Cloth, nmo $1.50 each 


FOUR BOYS IN THE YELLOWSTONE 

How They Went and What They Did 



JT'OUR boy friends who chance to represent 
respectively the northern, southern, eas- 
tern, and western sections of our country, join 
in a trip up the Great Lakes to Duluth, where 
they take a private car furnished by the father 
of one of them and go on to the world-famous 
Yellowstone Park, in which they have an 
abundance of adventure and enjoyment. The 
book opens an entirely new field in juvenile 
literature and will be welcomed accordingly 
The spirited illustrations by Mr. Edwards are 
worthy of special mention. 


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in some of the marvels of their own land.” — 'The Interior, Chicago, 


FOUR BOYS IN THE LAND OF COTTON 

Where They Went, What They Saw, and What They Did 


XHE four boys spend their next long vaca- 
tion in a southern tour, which begins in 
Virginia, thence to the Mississippi river, and 
on through Arkansas to Indian Territory. 
They come to appreciate their own country by 
seeing it, and learn history by visiting historic 
places. Above all, they have a good time, 
and so will every one who reads this book. 

“The next best thing to visiting these places 
yourself is to hear about them from Mr. Tomlin- 
son.” — Providence News. 



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THE BOY CRAFTSMAN 

Practical and Profitable Ideas for a Boy’# 
Leisure Hours 

By A. NEELY HALL 

Illustrated with over 400 diagrams and 
working drawings 8vo Price, $2.00 

E VERY real boy wishes to design and make 
things, but the questions of materials and 
tools are often hard to get around. Nearly all 
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money than is within the means of many boys, 
or their parents wish to expend in such ways. 
In this book a number of chapters give sugges- 
tions for carrying on a small business that will 
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and materials necessary for making apparatus 
and articles described in other chapters, while 
the ideas are so practical that many an indus- 
trious boy can learn what he is best fitted for in his life work. No work 
of its class is so completely up-to-date or so worthy in point of thorough- 
ness and avoidance of danger. The drawings are profuse and excellent, 
and every feature of the book is first-class. It tells how to make a boy’s 
workshop, how to handle tools, and what can be made with them; how 
to start a printing shop and conduct an amateur newspaper, how to 
make photographs, build a log cabin, a canvas canoe, a gymnasium, a 
miniature theatre, and many other things dear to the soul of youth. 

We cannot imagine a more delightful present for a boy than this book.— 
Churchman , N. T. 

Every boy should have this book. It’s a practical book — it gets right next to 
the boy’s heart and stays there. He will have it near him all the time, and on every 
page there is a lesson or something that will stand the boy in good need. Beyond 
a doubt in its line this is one of the cleverest books on the market. — Providence 
News. 

If a boy has any sort of a mechanical turn of mind, his parents should see that 
he has this book — Boston Journal. 

This is a book that will do boys good. — Buffalo Express . 

The boy who will not find this book a mine of joy and profit must be queerly 
constituted. — Pittsburgh Gazette. 

Will be a delight to the boy mechanic. — Watchman , Boston. 

An admirable book to give a boy. — Newark News. 

This book is the best yet offered for its large number of practical and profitable 
ideas. — Milwaukee Free Press. 

Parents ought to know of this book. — New Pork Globe. 



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W. 0. STODDARD’S BOOKS 

12mo Cloth Price per volume, $1.25 

OAN MONROE: A Story of Bunker Hill Illustrated byW.F. Kennedy 
In this volume the hero is one whose name is found in several trust- 
worthy records as the drummer boy of the Lexington militia, his closest 
friend, Nat Hairington, being the fifer. The Concord fight, the Battle of 
Bunker Hill, and the arrival of Washington ate introduced as parts of a 
carefully preserved historical outline. 

BONG BRIDGE BOYS Illustrated by I. B. Hazelton 

It tells the story of an actual attempt made by the Confederates of Vir- 
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Washington by force of arms, and make prisoners of President Lincoln 
and other high government officials. 

AHEAD OF x'HE ARMY Illustrated by C. Chase Emerson 

This is a lively narrative of the experiences of an American boy who 
arrives in Mexico as the war with the United States is beginning. 

THE ERRAND BOY OF ANDREW JACKSON: A War Story of 
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This tale is of the War of 1812, and describes the events of the only land 
campaign of 1812-1814 in which the Americans were entirely successful. 

JACK MORGAN: A Boy of 1813 Illustrated by Will Crawford 

It is the adventures of a boy of the frontier during the great fight that Har- 
rison made on land, and Perry on the lakes for the security of the border. 

THE NOANK’S BOG: A Privateer of the Revolution Illustrated by 
Will Crawford 

The further adventures of the plucky Guert Ten Eyck, as he fought 
King George on land and sea. 

THE DESPATCH BOAT OF THE WHISTBE : A Storj of Santiago 
Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill 

A breezy story of a newspaper despatch boat, in the war - /ith Spain. 
GUERT TEN EYCK Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill 

A hero story of real American girls and boys, in the Americ; Revolution. 
THE PARTNERS Illustrated by Albert Scott Cox 

A capital story of a bright, go-ahead country girl and t o boys who 
helped her keep store. 

CHUCK PURDY: A New York Boy Illustrated 
A delightful story of boy life in New York City. 

GID GRANGER: A Country Boy Illustrated 
A capital story of American life. 


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By Chaplain H. H. CLARK, U.S.N. 

THE ADMIRAL’S AID 

A Story of Life in the Nezo Navy 
1 2 mo, blue cloth, illustrated by I. B. Hazelton 

In this favorite author’s two earlier books we learned somewhat 
of the old navy. In this story it is the new navy, with all of its 
progress and development, which engages our attention. But the 
hope of the new navy is built upon the same qualities that have 
distinguished officers and men from its beginning. These Chaplain 
Clark portrays, to the delight of every reader, in this thrilling story. 

JOE BENTLY, Naval Cadet 

i2mo, blue cloth, illustrated by F. O. Small. #1.25 

In this story Joe Bently meets with many new and intensely inter- 
esting adventures. 

BOY LIFE IN THE UNITED 
STATES NAVY 

I2mo, blue cloth, illustrated. $1.25 


The book is a true picture of a healthy, attractive life of the navy 
that is little known to the general public, and full enough of adventures 
to please all classes of readers. 



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JUN 5 1908 


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